


Gallifrey Computing

by RishiDiams



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2013-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-26 23:49:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 34,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/971735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RishiDiams/pseuds/RishiDiams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr. John Smith is a brilliant computer engineer who believes his new CPU design will revolutionize the industry, but Intel and Apple won't have anything to do with him. Vital Technologies, better known as Vitex, is looking for something that will propel them ahead of their Silicon Valley counterparts, and John Smith's design seems like just the thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The inspiration for this was a photo prompt courtesy of [A_Who_in_Whoville](http://whoinwhoville.tumblr.com/) and was originally an early 80s Nerdy Computer Geek Tenth Doctor AU. I took it, modernized it, and this is the result. Also, big thanks to [valueturtle](http://valueturtle.tumblr.com/) for her contributions as well.
> 
> * * *

  


Dr. John Smith adjusts his tie nervously. He's in his best suit, the brown pinstriped one, but he'd be much more comfortable if he could only loosen the tie a bit. He doesn't, because he can't bollocks this up. He's arrived early for once at what is the third most important meeting of his life. He still can't figure out how it happened, but he managed to miss his first two proposals by, respectively, a day and, incredibly, a month. His joke that at least it hadn't been a year had not earned him a second appointment at Intel, and the frosty response he had received from Apple had ended his hopes of ever working with them in the future.

He's spent years developing a new CPU design, finally perfecting it after a flash of insight. Now he just needs funding to produce it, and those two industry giants had been his first and second choices. Of course he'd gone to Silicon Valley with his pitch, not even considering staying closer to home until those other options were exhausted. Vital Technologies, or Vitex as it's more commonly known, has long been nipping at the heels of the two American companies, and he knows his new methods could revolutionize the industry and propel Vitex ahead of its competitors. The company is based in London so at least he won't have to relocate if the director likes his proposal.

He hardly notices when a blonde woman joins him in the small waiting room outside of the director's office, he's so busy rehearsing his pitch. She sits down across from him without a word and he hears her snicker gently a few minutes later when he nervously flubs a particularly complicated detail. He looks up, finally noticing her; she's younger than him by several years and dressed in a sharp suit. She's also stunningly beautiful, the kind of beauty who never paid any mind to a slightly awkward geek like him, at least. But she's watching him now, a hint of impatience in her gaze suggesting that she was actually interested in the pitch.

He pushes his glasses up on his nose with the tip of one finger. His gob immediately gets away from him as he starts over from the beginning again, driven by an irrational need to impress her. His technical charts, designs, and projected build times are all arranged for maximum impressiveness and he nails every point. He even manages to throw in a few witty jokes for good measure, smiling each time he is rewarded by the sound of her laughter ringing through the room. She claps politely when he finishes, offering him a tongue touched smile that does very peculiar things to his insides.

"Rose?" the receptionist says as he starts to put his charts and designs back in order. The blonde stands and touches him lightly on the shoulder. "You'll do fine," she says as she walks into the director's office.

A long moment passes before the receptionist turns to him, "They're ready for you, Dr. Smith."

He gathers up all of the charts and graphs and walks into the office. There's an easel he assumes is for his use just inside the door and he catches a shared glance between the man behind the big desk and the blonde from before - Rose - as he ignores them to set up his materials just so. His meeting was supposed to be with Pete Tyler, and he is able to attach the name to the man behind the big desk thanks to a recent tech magazine article. The blonde is a surprise.

She is sitting to Mr. Tyler's right and there's something about her being at the director's right hand that piques his curiosity. He thinks that maybe she's a secretary sitting in to take notes, but there is a confidence in her bearing that has him immediately second-guessing that theory. It's a tiny little mystery he'll gladly look into another time.

His materials sorted, he turns to them and smiles his biggest smile. Both of them look back stoically. _Tough crowd_ , he thinks to himself before launching into the pitch.

The whole thing is over in minutes and they're playing it cool, but he can tell they're impressed. At least he hopes that's what them being impressed looks like.

"Very nice, Dr. Smith." The words are barely out of Mr. Tyler's mouth before Rose is sliding her notepad across the desk between them, the tip of her pen pointing to something she's written there. He's too far away to see anything more than the large, neat loops of her handwriting, but Mr. Tyler leans over, reads, and then looks back up. "How do you expect to solve the cooling issue?"

His stomach plummets. "Cooling issue? There's no cooling issue." Did he not explain himself well enough or is it possible his design is flawed? And if there's a flaw in the design, who is this Rose that she could spot it during the course of a ten minute pitch?

The sound of Rose's pen tapping deliberately on the notepad draws the attention of both men. The director leans over to read again. "Your proposal estimates a fifty per cent increase in processing speed. We've had our best minds trying to do the same thing for years, but we keep hitting a wall: adding more power increases the speed but also increases the heat output by an exponential margin. How do you propose to keep the heat at a manageable level?"

In his nervousness, he skipped over the most important part. He jumps back into action, moving to the easel where he flips through several of the designs before he comes to the one he's looking for. "It's a common misconception that you have to have more power in order to have more speed when, in fact, the converse is true. Sure, if you tweak the power up a little bit you'll gain a few percentage points of speed increase, but as you stated, the heat the CPU puts out becomes unmanageable. What we actually need to do is _lower_ the power to the processor. If we're using fewer electrical impulses to tell the processor how much energy to consume, we've got more space to send data."

The two people on the other side of the room exchange a glance, but he can't decide if it's disbelieving or approving. Without a word, Rose flips her notepad closed and stands. She walks out of the office, passing close enough to him that he nearly follows her out of the room like an affection-starved puppy.

Mr. Tyler clears his throat and John turns back to him, a guilty blush rising up his neck. "Sit down, Dr. Smith, we have some details to discuss."

Less than an hour later, he steps out of the director's office, his head still spinning with amazement at how generous Vitex's new hire package is. He'd accepted immediately, of course - he'd have been a fool not to - and then in the same breath promised a working prototype of his design before the end of his first month of employment.

The receptionist chuckles when she sees him. "H.R. is on the third floor, Dr. Smith. I'll let them know you're coming."

He looks down at himself, realizing that in his haze he's left his materials in the director's office. He turns back to the door but the receptionist's voice stops him. "It will all still be there waiting for you in the morning, Dr. Smith."

He nods and moves to the lifts, jumping out of the way a second later when the doors slide open and a blonde woman steps out. His heart speeds up just a touch at the sight of her blonde hair, but he quickly sees that it's not Rose. This woman is older, and she looks him up and down before dismissing him as she moves towards the director's door. She barely slows before opening it, but she does acknowledge the receptionist's polite, "Good afternoon, Mrs. Tyler," with a tiny nod.

He barely suppresses a shiver as he steps into the lift just before the doors close.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. John Smith is a brilliant computer engineer who believes his new CPU design will revolutionize the industry, but Intel and Apple won't have anything to do with him. Vital Technologies, better known as Vitex, is looking for something that will propel them ahead of their Silicon Valley counterparts, and John Smith's design seems like just the thing.

  
The Human Resources office is quiet, almost subdued, and he's there a full fifteen minutes filling out paperwork before he realizes that there are more people in the office than the person who had greeted him at the door. That realization comes simultaneous with a loud feminine cry of "Oh my God!" followed by a giddy giggle.

The person sitting across from him grins wryly as John looks around. "Another new hire," he explains before sliding a piece of paper across the desk to him.

John looks at it to see that it's a breakdown of what he can expect on his first paycheck. _Oh my God_ indeed. _Generous_ , he'd thought of the Vitex new hire package, but seeing it there in ones and zeros... so many zeros... makes it a lot more real. He swallows hard to suppress the urge to cheer as well.

It's another hour before they're finally done. The non-disclosure agreement alone had taken thirty minutes to read and sign.

"All right, Dr. Smith, technically the Vitex doors are never closed, so you can come and go as you please. But you do have a meeting at eight hundred tomorrow with Mr. Tyler so he can give you the grand tour."

"Really? That seems like a rather trivial matter for the Director to concern himself with."

"Vitex is not like a lot of other corporations. Mr. Tyler is very hands-on, and you'll find him more often than not up to his elbows in R&D or sitting with the staff in the canteen at lunchtime. He likes to make sure that his new hires are settled in comfortably." He stands and offers John his hand. "Welcome aboard, Dr. Smith."

The next morning, John steps into the Vitex lobby at five minutes to eight. He's been up since four, unable to sleep, and pacing the sidewalk in front of the building for the last twenty minutes. The guard at the front desk barely bats an eye when he introduces himself, but hands over John's new photo ID and key card before telling him to have a seat. His bum barely touches the very expensive-looking leather sofa when the lift doors open and Rose steps out, and he pops up again like a jack-in-the-box.

She smiles as she walks toward him, her hand already outstretched. She's wearing a suit similar to the one from the day before, elegantly cut and very flattering on her figure, the skirt stopping just above her knees, and he has a moment to admire her shapely calves before she's upon him. "Dr. Smith, I'm glad you decided to join us." She shakes his hand. "We didn't manage introductions yesterday. I'm Rose Tyler, VP of Marketing & Sales, and I'll be your tour guide this morning. I hope you don't mind the last minute switch, but Pete had to deal with a factory crisis." She manages the whole thing in one breath, but only one part of it catches his attention.

Rose _Tyler_.

That's when the penny drops.

He's tongue tied for a moment, gaping at her like a fish.

"It's okay," she says when she sees his distress. "I know I'm not what a lot of people expect."

He recognizes her now and feels ridiculous for not doing so before. She's been on the covers of red tops since before she went off to university. He knows details about her life that make it difficult to even look at her: her age (six years younger than him), that she was famously sent down from university after less than a year for undisclosed offenses, how many times she's let her natural hair color grow out in the last five years (she's really a brunette) only to turn around and dye it blonde again, the number of boyfriends she's had in that same period and the exact reasons each relationship ended.

But despite her run-ins with the pap and propensity to end up in the tabs, she's also been featured in Vanity Fair, Esquire, and Wired. There was even one spread she'd done nude - tastefully, of course, her fiercely protective dragon of a mother wouldn't have had it any other way - for PETA. He swallows hard as he remembers briefly running into said dragon when leaving the director's office the day before.

"No, it's not that," he manages as the words _"I ogled you in front of your father, my new boss, and by the way I've seen you naked"_ struggle to escape.

He pushes his glasses up and reminds himself that she likes brawny brainless types, not skinny nerds like him. And, _oh_ , where did that thought come from?

"I apologize, Miss Tyler," he says, running a hand through his hair, "it's just --"

"No need. I get that all the time. Shall we?"

"I must look so stupid to you," he is finally able to say as they step into the lift.

He's seen women who are trying to stroke a man's ego in order to gain favors for themselves, had so frequently been the recipient of such attentions throughout school that the mere thought of it is now enough to turn his stomach. He has always been able to pick out the insincere quality in their voices, but he gets no hint of that from Rose when she turns to him, her eyes serious. "I think you're brilliant."

"Oh. Um. Thank you." He runs his hand through his hair again, stopping when he gets to the crown of his head because Rose giggles up at him. "What?"

"You must do that a lot." She gestures at his hair.

He looks up, not that he can see more than his fringe without a mirror. "What makes you say that?"

She takes a step closer, reaches up and plucks his fingers out of his hair then proceeds to play with the strands for a few seconds. "Because you look right like this, complete somehow. The mad scientist look works for you."

It occurs to him all at once that he's enclosed in a lift with the most beautiful woman he's ever met, that she's playing with his _hair_ , her body only inches from his, and that she's just complimented his appearance of all things. The air seems to still between them as he looks down at her. Her tongue is peeking out from between her lips, her eyes are focused on what she's doing to his hair. Either she's the most talented actress he's ever met, or she has no idea that she's completely invaded the personal space of a near stranger and initiated the single most intimate experience he's had in ages.

He's caught somewhere between wondering what she'd do if he tried to kiss her and reminding himself that she's the boss's daughter and, yes, despite this unusual behavior, a stranger, when her eyes slide down to meet his. He can see the dawning comprehension and horror at what she's done pass over her face, and it's enough of an impetus to get him to take a step back from her.

Her hands fall to her side, a blush staining her cheeks as she stumbles over an apology. He's about to accept, graciously, of course, but the words remain unspoken as the lift chimes their arrival. He gestures that she should go first and he hangs back for a second to remind himself that despite the glasses and the pale skin and the scrawny build and the interest in computers, he is definitely _not_ a recluse who lives in his parents' basement. He has been around women, has even been in a couple of long-term relationships. And he is Not Going to Fall Apart Like a Blithering Idiot Simply Because Rose Tyler Paid Attention to Him, thank you very much.

He takes a deep breath and steps out into the corridor.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. John Smith is a brilliant computer engineer who believes his new CPU design will revolutionize the industry, but Intel and Apple won't have anything to do with him. Vital Technologies, better known as Vitex, is looking for something that will propel them ahead of their Silicon Valley counterparts, and John Smith's design seems like just the thing.

  
"You said Pete earlier," he begins as they fall into step together, finally grasping hold of what had been niggling at him about her earlier introduction. It's a neutral enough topic, and he's determined not to let what happened - or, more accurately, what nearly happened - in the lift mar his first day at work.

"Hm? Oh, I suppose I did. Yeah, he's my dad, but we're pretty informal around here." It's more than that, he can tell by the way her eyes narrowed ever so slightly when he asked the question. She's a VP at one of the fastest up and coming technology firms in Britain, yet he knows for a fact that she never finished Uni. That in and of itself is unremarkable, as neither did Bill Gates, Steve Jobs, or Steve Wozniak. But he also knows that Pete Tyler is just as wealthy as any of his competitors and that his daughter has never shown any technical prowess.

A lot of people would look at her position within Vitex as nepotism at its worst. And calling the director 'Dad' would only rub salt in the wounds of people inclined to think poorly of her.

"Okay," he replies.

They'd arrived at a door while they'd talked and her hand is already reaching to push it open. She studies him for a second and he wonders if she knows there was more to his answer than its face value. With a tiny non-committal nod, she opens the door.

He doesn't even know what floor they're on - he was distracted in the lift, after all - but he appreciates the smells that hit his nose when they step into the canteen. It's only eight in the morning, but there are a handful of people already scattered among the tables with laden trays in front of them. A few acknowledge Rose and she waves to them but doesn't stop.

There are two food lines, each with its own prominently displayed menu, and a separate soup and salad bar. "It's all complimentary," Rose is saying as he walks up and down to see the offerings in the first line. "And it's always open."

"It's like Google," he says with awe as his stomach takes an interest. He's not much of a cook, and you wouldn't think it to look at him, but he loves good food, and everything here certainly looks good.

She laughs and he remembers how much he enjoys the sound. "They won't exactly let us in to compare, you know, too afraid we'll steal trade secrets. But I think we're doing okay."

"Miss Rose!" a voice calls out. There's a generously proportioned dark-skinned woman standing behind the second line, an easy smile on her lips as Rose walks over to her.

"Good morning, Miss Laura. How are you today?"

"I'm good, honey, let me get your chips for you."

"Oh, not right now. I'm giving our newest employee a tour." She turns to him, blatantly ignoring when he mouths the word 'chips' at her with a questioning lift to his eyebrow. Chips are a far cry from the baked chicken in line one and the poached salmon in line two. "Dr. John Smith, this is Miss Laura. She's in charge of the canteen. If there's something you'd like to see on the menu or something you can't have for whatever reason, she's the person to talk to. We'll be stopping in at the tech desk later to get your interoffice email set up then you'll be automatically put on her mailing list."

Miss Laura was nodding. "I send out a menu once a month and notices a couple of days in advance of special events."

"Special events?"

"You'll see," Rose answers, "Birthdays, company picnics, that kind of thing." Then, "Thank you, Miss Laura, but we've got a lot more stops to make this morning."

"Nice meeting you," he adds as they walk away.

He's a little surprised when they arrive at the tech desk to learn that its main function is technical support. The man at the desk facing the door introduces himself as the 'first line of defense' but the nameplate on his desk identifies him as Roy. He's about John's age, with curly hair and a sparse, scraggly beard. Much to John's amusement, he's wearing a t-shirt with the letters RTFM emblazoned across it. "Not everyone here is a genius with computers," Roy explains. "We've got lawyers, secretaries, and accountants, too, and though we try to teach them a little bit of troubleshooting, we have to be there if something major happens."

Though John has a lot of questions, Rose seems to want to keep them on a tight schedule. Setting up his email and network permissions only takes a matter of minutes and then the two of them are back inside the lift.

H.R. and accounting on two, canteen on three, I.T. on four, director's office on ten. He's going to need a map of the building before this is done.

The lift doors open on the fifth floor. They've arrived at R&D. The entire floor is open, no individual offices or cubicles here, and a dozen workstations are situated around the room. Each workstation has at least two people standing at it, some as many as four or five, and he wonders which team he'll be placed with.

Rose introduces the head of the department as Dr. Frank Ware, who seems surprised when she tells him that John is a new hire. "Accountant?" he asks as he looks John up and down.

John, confused, looks at Rose, "I assumed R&D."

But Rose shakes her head. "You're in Special Projects."

The look in Dr. Ware's eyes goes from assessing to calculating. "Dr. Smith," he says coolly, "what field is your doctorate in exactly?"

"Astronomy," John replies automatically and sees Rose's eyes bulge a bit at the answer. He wonders if she's even looked at his resumé. As the VP of Marketing and Sales, she might not have, but as someone who sat in on his hiring interview, he would have thought she'd at least be versed in his educational background.

"Astronomy," Ware repeats dryly.

"That's right." John shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks slightly on his heels.

Ware cracks a smile and, just like that, whatever rivalry that would have formed between them was defused before it could even begin.

Rose seems to notice the shift as well, but doesn't want to give either of them the chance to reignite it. "I'll take you to your office next, Dr. Smith," she says gathering him up effortlessly and leading him out of the lab. "Astronomy?" she hisses incredulously as they get back into the lift.

"What's wrong with Astronomy? I like Astronomy." He sounds defensive and he knows it, but she's pressed the button for the eighth floor and they're going to be stuck alone again in the lift - seriously? does no one else in the entire corporation ever use the lift? - for several seconds longer than he thinks his self-control can hold out. Because she's looking at him like he's infinitely more interesting than she originally suspected, like he's a riddle she'd like to solve, and no amount of reminding himself of her disastrous string of romances with footballers, actors, and that one American billionaire is helping.

"I didn't say there was anything wrong with Astronomy," she replies, her voice carefully neutral. "It just surprised me is all."

"Surprised Ware, too."

She giggles. "Yes, it did."

She's so incredibly lovely when her eyes are flashing and her smile seems like it's reserved for him alone. Even though he knows it's unwise, John can feel the words bubbling up from inside of him, "Rose, would --"

The lift chimes and he looks up at the traitorous display to see that they're only on the seventh floor. He had to go and wish for someone else to use the lift, didn't he? A girl gets on, nodding to him politely before turning her attention to Rose. "Miss Tyler, I was looking for you. I have some new designs I'd like you to look at."

Two footballers, three actors, and a billionaire, he reminds himself as Rose makes arrangements to meet with the girl after she finishes his tour. But the third actor really doesn't count since they were only together for about two weeks and both denied it had been anything romantic. Regardless, she's not going to want to have coffee with him no matter what he thinks he sees in her expression.

"Dr. Smith? John?"

He comes back to himself to see that they've arrived at the eighth floor and Rose is waiting for him to exit the lift. "Did you need something?" she asks when he starts moving.

A cold shower and a dash of common sense, he thinks, but he can't say that to her. He shakes his head. "It was nothing."

The eighth floor is the polar opposite of R&D. It looks more like a posh office building than a laboratory. The floor is carpeted, the walls are painted a soothing neutral color and there are paintings spaced along the hallway. They pass several closed doors before Rose turns them down another hall. "Most of these offices are occupied, but if for whatever reason you find you need more space or a change of scenery, let Pete know and we'll see about switching you around. A lot of the projects on this floor are classified so your neighbors may not be friendly exactly, but don't let that stop you from joining the rest of us in the canteen for lunch. Ah, here we are."

They arrive at a door with the number ten on it and a rather forbidding access pad on the wall. "Pete has the code, so he'll have to give it to you. But for now just use your..." She reaches up to his breast pocket and pulls out his ID badge, swiping it across the access pad in one motion then handing it back to him.

She's smiling again when she gestures for him to open the door. He does, stepping into his office. The floor is hard wood - thank goodness, all of that carpet in the hallway had made him nervous, because the last thing he needs is static build-up around his components. One wall is made entirely of windows and if he judges the orientation of the building correctly then he'll have lots of good afternoon sunlight to work by.

Sitting behind the desk closer to the door is a ginger woman who jumps up and straightens her clothes nervously.

"Dr. John Smith, this is Ms. Donna Noble. She will be your personal secretary." Rose waits while they politely shake hands and exchange a few pleasantries. "I'll leave you two to get settled in, then."

He waits until Rose has left the room. "I don't really think I'll need a secretary. I've never --"

Donna's genial smile dissolves. "Listen here, you skinny strip of nothing, this promises to be the best job I've ever had in my life. It's more money in a month than I would make in a year of temping. Now, I'll make your coffee, I'll pick up your dry cleaning, whatever, I don't care. I'm not above any of that. But I'm not going to let you screw this up for me."

He's in utter shock at her words when the door to the office opens again, having never closed fully. It's Rose and she looks from him to Donna then back again, apparently oblivious to what's just been said. "Pete should be back in the office by lunchtime, Dr. Smith, Ms. Noble, if you could both meet him in the canteen, I'm sure he'd love to see how you're getting along."

There's an awkward moment where neither of them says anything then they both realize it at the same time and they reply in unison. "Yes, of course." "Sounds great."

The door closes behind Rose again and a second passes in complete silence as they wait for it to click shut. Finally, their eyes meet and they both burst into giggles. Afterwards, John extends his hand to her. "I think we got off on the wrong foot, Ms. Noble. I didn't mean to suggest that --"

She waves away his apology and takes his hand, pumping it once firmly. "Donna, please. And I shouldn't have snapped at you. How about we call it nerves and forget the whole thing ever happened?"

"That would be very nice, Donna, thank you."

She smiles again. "There is one thing, though." She points at him with both forefingers, "What, exactly, is going on with your hair?"

Rose. He hadn't even concerned himself with how he looked after she ran her fingers through it. "What's wrong with it?"

"It's all..." she gestures vaguely around her own head. "Oh, fine, here." She digs in her purse and pulls out a compact mirror and hands it to him.

It's not bad, actually, a little more sticky-uppy than he'd normally wear it - okay, he concedes, it's a lot more sticky-uppy than he'd normally wear it. But it's nice. It makes him look younger, cooler. He runs his hand through his hair, disheveling it even further - do people even still say cool? Does Rose say cool?

Snapping the compact closed, he hands it back to Donna. He needs to get his mind off of Rose. She's done nothing more than pay attention to him - well, the hair thing was a little unusual, but not exactly an invitation for him to expect more from her. Once again he grounds himself, focuses.

He looks around the office; it's spacious enough that even with two desks and a worktable it doesn't feel crowded. A stool would be a nice addition to the worktable so he doesn't have to stand all the time and he'll have to make a note to pick one up later. There's a rack of computer parts to the right of the door and a cursory glance reveals that the parts are an average of six months old. Still useful, but not exactly cutting-edge, and certainly not the kind of parts he is going to want to test his theory on. Oh, his theory, he needs to get his notes and materials out of the director's office.

Otherwise, not bad.

Donna is sitting at her desk again, scribbling manically on a notepad she pulled out of God-knows-where. She stops when he looks at her. "Anything else?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Stool for the worktable," she reads, "newer components to test theory, materials from director's office. Anything else?"

"You... how did you..."

She wiggles her fingers in front of her miming typing on a keyboard. "Fastest temp in Chiswick. That and your gob was going a mile a minute."

Yeah, now that he thinks about it, he supposes it had been. "Can you really," he mimes typing on a keyboard.

"Of course. You don't think they hired me for my good looks, do you?" Then, suddenly uncomfortable, she turns back to the notepad. "I can handwrite these for now, but I'll need a computer eventually to make future requisitions."

John looks back at the rack of parts. "I could build you one out of that."

"What, really?"

He laughs. "Yeah. They didn't hire me for my good looks either."

"I know," she laughs. "Skinny thing like you, a strong wind would blow you over."

He squeaks the toe of his trainer on the floor, surprisingly just as uncomfortable as Donna had been a moment earlier. It's the interaction with Rose still digging at him, and he knows it, but dismissing it is proving more difficult than he'd thought.

"Hey," Donna's light touch on his arm is enough to bring him out of his own thoughts. "You all right? I didn't mean anything by it." This woman is a paradox, brash one minute, sensitive the next, confident in her own skills, yet insecure about herself.

"Yeah," he replies, straightening. "I'm always all right." He claps his hands and gestures at the rack before she has a chance to gainsay him. "You run up to the director's office and I'll get started on your computer. I'll have you up and running before lunchtime."  


* * *


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. John Smith is a brilliant computer engineer who believes his new CPU design will revolutionize the industry, but Intel and Apple won't have anything to do with him. Vital Technologies, better known as Vitex, is looking for something that will propel them ahead of their Silicon Valley counterparts, and John Smith's design seems like just the thing.

  
"You cost Cary in H.R. twenty quid."

"Twenty quid? What? I've only been here a week, how did I manage that?" He adds a 'thanks' when Donna hands him a coffee mug. They've fallen into a comfortable routine, he and Donna. She keeps the office organized and supplied, brings him the occasional cuppa or coffee, and reminds him when it's time to eat or leave work for the day. In return, he tries his best not to step on her toes.

"Apparently they have an ongoing competition to see whose new hires yell the loudest when they see what their paycheck is going to look like. Everyone thought for sure you'd get up and dance."

He is more than a little uncomfortable that others had been discussing his salary. He starts to snap at Donna, but barely stops himself in time, turning back to the motherboard he's attempting to solder instead. After two false starts, John realizes he doesn't have the patience for such detailed work right now.

"Oi, Spaceman, where are you going?" Donna yells after him as he gets up from the worktable and storms out of his office. Normally the odd nickname is enough to draw him out of himself. That is after all how it originated, Donna's multiple unsuccessful bids to get his attention while he focused on upgrading components. One time, when she'd finally gotten his attention she'd asked him if he'd been in outer space and the nickname had stuck.

He's waiting for the lift when she catches up to him. "Are you all right?"

"I'm always all right."

"Look, is that Spaceman code for really not all right at all? Because you don't look all right."

The lift doors open and he steps inside without answering her.

"Where are you going?"

"Lunch."

"Lunch? It's not even half nine!" she shouts as the lift doors close between them.

A few minutes later he walks out of the Vitex building and turns right at random. Two blocks later he steps into a Starbucks not because of any deep-seated desire for coffee, but because he needs to be doing something with his hands, even if it's only holding a mug.

He's at the far end of the counter waiting for his drink when he hears a familiar voice placing an order. He looks around the two people in line between them and, sure enough, Rose Tyler is standing at the register. "Hey," he says to the barista preparing his latte, "How would I go about paying for that blonde's order?"

The young man looks over to Rose and then back at the latte. "Save your money, mate, she's out of your league."

He fishes his wallet out of his back pocket and pulls out a tenner. "Use this to pay for that lady's drink and you can keep the change."

The other man's eyes flash with avarice. He shrugs, "It's your money." He takes the ten and walks over to the register just in time to prevent Rose from paying the cashier. He gestures at John when he refuses her money, and Rose looks over at him and smiles.

"Thank you," she says as she walks up to him a minute later already juggling a mug of hot tea.

"You're welcome." They haven't managed anything more than a rare polite nod since she left his office on the first day. They're only two people among more than a thousand employees at Vitex, so rationally he knows the odds are against it, but irrational hope being what it is, he's disappointed every time an entire day passes where he doesn't accidentally bump into her.

John gestures at a nearby empty table when the barista finally hands over his latte, "Would you like to sit?"

"How are you?" she says once they're seated. "Settled into your office okay?"

"Yeah, it's great."

"You have enough space? Do you need anything?"

"No. Really, it's great."

"Donna okay?"

"Donna's brilliant."

"If she's not working out there's a whole secretary pool to choose from."

"I like her. She's smart and well-organized, exactly what I needed in an assistant."

Rose sips at her tea. "Dr. Smith, if there's something wrong - anything --"

He straightens in his chair, only just realizing what this supposedly accidental meeting stems from. "Did Donna call you?"

"No. Why, did something happen?" she counters and, through her too neutral expression, he sees a tiny hint of insincerity.

"I think you know that something did."

She sighs and sits straighter as well, placing her cup on the table. "All I know is that you left the office in a huff. I was in the lobby when you passed through."

"And you followed me." It's not a question, but she nods anyway. "Afraid I'll take my theory someplace else?"

There's a tiny pause before she answers, then, "Frankly, I'm more concerned about losing you."

Her words, delivered with quiet conviction, are like a punch to the gut for him. He knows what she means, that, theory or no, Vitex can ill afford to lose him to one of their competitors, but he is having trouble not reading more into her words.

"Dr. Smith," she says when he doesn't answer, "if --"

"John," he interrupts. "Please."

"John," she repeats firmly and for an instant he wishes he had an interesting name so he could listen to her tongue curve around it. "Whatever the problem is, I'd like to help."

He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table as he plays with the protective heat sleeve on the outside of his cup. "Did you know that the employees in H.R. place bets on how new hires will react the first time they see their pay breakdown?"

Rose leans forward as well. "If that's true - and I'm not suggesting I doubt you - that's wildly inappropriate. Someone should look in to that."

"I agree."

"I assume you heard this somewhere?"

"Donna told me. Apparently I cost Cary twenty quid."

"Cary's a pig," she spits dismissively. "He deserves it. Any idea who else might be involved?"

"No, but Donna might know."

"Would you mind if I talked to her?"

"Of course not," he replies, because it's absurd to him that Rose would need his permission to talk to Donna about anything. "Now, can we please change the subject? I got out of the office to get away from this."

"Sure." She sips at her tea again. "So, John Smith, do you have any family?"

She's sympathetic when she learns that he's an only child whose parents are both deceased. He's incredulous when she tells him that she has only one sibling, a six year old brother.

"That's one impressive age gap!"

"It's not that bad," she replies, twisting a napkin nervously around her finger. "I don't mind so much."

She seems almost relieved when her cell phone goes off before he can respond. "It's work. I should really get back."

He scoots his chair back. "You're right. I'm sorry."

Rose stands as well. "Don't be sorry. I'm glad we were able to talk."

He holds the door for her and then joins her on the street. "Thank you, Miss Tyler, for speaking with me. I know it's not your job, but I want you to know that I appreciate you taking time out of your day."

"You called me Rose before, John, why am I 'Miss Tyler' now?"

He doesn't even remember ever using her given name, but he supposes he must have if she says he did. Calling her Miss Tyler makes it easier to keep his thoughts of her separate in his mind. Rose is warm smiles and fingers running through his hair, Miss Tyler is VP of Marketing and Sales and the Vitex heiress.

"Rose then," he concedes.

"Are you coming back to the office?"

"Maybe later. I need to clear my head."

Her hand touches his sleeve. "If you ever need anything, come see me, okay?"

"Thank you. Rose."

"You're welcome, John."

He watches her head off in the direction of Vitex for a minute before going right again. He's only taken a few steps when he hears her call his name. When he turns she's already nearly all the way back.

"You know what?" she asks, stopping beside him. "I think I have just the thing to clear your head."

"I thought you had to get back to work?"

"Nah. What good is being the boss's daughter if you can't take a free day every now and then?"

She extends her hand and waits patiently for him to take it. He's not going to think about how perfectly her hand fits in his, how natural it is to lace his fingers with hers, how maybe she shines a little brighter for the contact.

"Better with two, right?"

He definitely agrees.

It's a five minute walk to Regents Park and there he discovers that Rose is also gelato and feeding the ducks and long lazy walks around the park.

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. John Smith is a brilliant computer engineer who believes his new CPU design will revolutionize the industry, but Intel and Apple won't have anything to do with him. Vital Technologies, better known as Vitex, is looking for something that will propel them ahead of their Silicon Valley counterparts, and John Smith's design seems like just the thing.

  
John finds himself spending a lot more time in Marylebone now that he's working for Vitex. There's a little sandwich shop not far from the office that serves the best pork belly he's found since O'Shea's closed their Knightsbridge location. Most evenings it's more crowded than a pub on quiz night, but he likes to sit on the terrace to eat.

He plays a game while he eats, imagining stories for the other diners or the people walking on the other side of the tiny hedge that separates the terrace from the pavement. It's there that a woman catches his attention. She's petite with honey-blonde hair and though she's dressed plainly, it's obvious her clothes are high quality.

She's wearing an open blazer over a silk camisole shirt with a low v-neck that's proudly showing off her ample cleavage. A necklace with a single drop pendant helps to draw the eye. Her hips sway provocatively with every step she takes, her tight-fitting trousers hugging every curve. Her eyes are hidden behind a pair of large designer sunglasses and he squirms in his seat when it occurs to him that the only reason he's even noticed her is because he initially mistook her for Rose Tyler.

"Can I help you, miss?" he asks the third time she passes where he's sitting. She's not Rose, he can see that now, this woman's face is rounder, her mouth not quite as wide.

She looks around then sees him looking at her and walks up to the hedge. "Yes, please," she says through a thick French accent. "I seem to be lost."

"Where are you trying to go?"

"Back to my hotel. I do not suppose you know how to get to the Dorchester from here?"

"Actually, I do." He points down Baker Street. "It's about a mile that way. Turn right on Tilney and you'll run right into it."

She looks around them at the people jostling each other on the pavement and bites her lip. "I hate to beg another favor." She lifts her sunglasses and perches them on the top of her head. Her eyes are crystal blue and now that he is finally getting a look at the entirety of her face, John is stunned by how beautiful she is. "I am not familiar with the city and I fear I may get turned around again. Would you mind terribly walking with me?"

"I'd be glad to. I'll be right out."

A minute later he is standing beside her on the pavement.

"I feel so silly even asking. I am not usually this bad with directions." She touches her temple as though remembering something. "And it appears I have lost my manners as well. My name is Renée," she says offering her hand.

"John Smith," he replies, taking her hand, barely resisting the urge to add Doctor before his name.

"Jean," she repeats with a distinctly French pronunciation. "It is very nice to meet you. Shall we?"

She links her arm through his, leaning slightly against him as they start walking. Her proximity is distracting to say the least, and she smells like expensive perfume. "So, Jean, do you live nearby?"

"No, but I work not far from here."

"And what is work for you?"

"I'm in computers."

"Computers. It seems like everything is computers now. I long for simpler times. Do you repair them?"

"No. I'm a scientist. I'm trying to build a better computer."

"Are the ones we already have not good enough?"

"There's always someone who wants them faster or smaller."

"Yes, I suppose that is true. And you do this? Make them faster and smaller?"

"That's pretty much it, yeah. What about you? What do you do?"

"What do I do? That is a question. There are a few causes I champion back home, but mostly I am trotted out - is that the right word? trotted out - whenever my uncle Charles wants to show me off to someone."

As he struggles for something to say she releases a long-suffering sigh. "Do you have family, Jean?"

"No one close," he answers, still curious about what she means but unsure how to approach so personal a subject with a woman he's only known about ten minutes.

She presses closer to him, the weight of her breast resting against his arm. "Girlfriend?"

His thoughts immediately stray back to Rose and the hours they'd spent wandering around Regents Park a few days earlier. It is one of his best days in recent memory, the two of them laughing and teasing each other, hand-in-hand.

Renée straightens when he doesn't answer her immediately, her spine suddenly stiff. "Oh."

But there's been no talk of relationships with Rose, not even a vague suggestion that they might be more to each other than friends, possibly even only acquaintances still working towards friendship. They've only known each other about ten days, after all. And though he shudders to think of himself spending a similar carefree day in the park with, say, Donna, he is reminded once again of footballers and billionaires.

"No," he says finally, as Renée is starting to pull her arm loose from his. "No girlfriend."

She stops mid-motion and studies him. Slowly she leans back into him again, a tiny smile on her lips. "Ah. This looks familiar. I can manage the rest by myself," she says as they turn onto Tilney. She stops and faces him, smiling coyly. "Do you speak any French, Jean?"

"No."

She lifts on her toes and whispers a string of fluent French into his ear. Even if he could understand her, he's far too distracted by the feeling of her curves pressing against him and the slight pressure of her hands on his shoulders to even try. Then she kisses both of his cheeks before backing away, the tiniest blush on her own cheeks.

"It was very kind of you to come to my rescue. _Merci_ , Jean. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

He watches her go, telling himself that he's only doing it to ensure that she makes it into the hotel without incident. It has nothing to do with the way her bum looks in those painted on trousers as she walks away from him.

* * *

"Electrical engineering with a focus in computer science," Rose says the next day at lunch, throwing the words at him with a flair that might as well be a 'ta-da!'

John grins back at her. "Finally got around to reading my resumé?"

She gestures with her tray of chips at the empty seat beside him, silently asking permission to sit, and he immediately stands and pulls it out for her. He's so focused on her, on the slight pinking of her cheeks as she hesitates before sitting, that he's completely forgotten they're in the middle of the Vitex canteen.

"Thank you," she says softly as he returns to his own seat. It occurs to him that he can hear her a lot clearer than he should be able to, and a quick glance around reveals that conversation at the tables closest to them has all but completely stopped. A few people are staring, but most are studiously avoiding eye contact.

Rose notices it too, and with a deliberateness that says 'just ignore them' she continues, picking up a chip and popping it into her mouth. "So, what's the deal with Astronomy?"

"As an undergrad I took so many classes I nearly had enough credits for a double major. There are other worlds out there, Rose. Entire solar systems and galaxies. We can only see a fraction of it from our little corner right now, but one day the Human race is going to spread out across the universe."

"You sound like you really believe that."

"There's so much to explore and it's so beautiful, I have to believe that one day we're going to be able to experience it. Haven't you ever stopped and looked at the stars?"

"Not really. I've lived in London all my life. There's not exactly much to see."

"There's everything to see. I'd love to take you out into the country and show you."

She's quite for a moment as she chews. Then, timidly, "Do you mean it?"

He nods absently, more focused on his shrimp pasta than her, "I've got a great place. It's quiet and remote, and the sky explodes with light at night."

"I'd like that," she replies in the same soft tone.

Several seconds pass before his brain processes the information his ears have been given. He's just invited Rose Tyler on a date, and she said yes.

It's not a date, he tells himself almost immediately. Because it's not like he said "Can I buy you dinner sometime?" and she said yes.

"All right," he says. "I'll, um, make the arrangements and let you know?"

"'kay."

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. John Smith is a brilliant computer engineer who believes his new CPU design will revolutionize the industry, but Intel and Apple won't have anything to do with him. Vital Technologies, better known as Vitex, is looking for something that will propel them ahead of their Silicon Valley counterparts, and John Smith's design seems like just the thing.

  
The drive to Britwell Salome only takes an hour, but he spends nearly all of that time with his eyes firmly affixed to the road in an effort to prevent himself from getting lost in all of the skin Rose is showing. She's wearing a bright yellow sundress which stops right above her knees and that, between the spaghetti straps and plunging neckline, might consist of one and a half yards of material total. Her cheeks had flushed a rosy pink when he'd opened the car door for her outside of her Mayfair flat and John had immediately decided he liked pink and yellow.

He's finally able to breathe when he turns off of the B road and onto a country road so small that it almost qualifies as a footpath. The driveway he's looking for is on the right and its only a few seconds later that he's pulling up to the house. He stops the car in the courtyard, not bothering with the garage since they'll only be here the one night.

As he gets out of the car, his eyes roam over the house reminding him once again why he loves this place so much. Easily two hundred years old, the two storey brick and flint house only boasts two bedrooms, but the attic, former servants quarters, was completely renovated by the previous owners and would make an excellent hobby room or third bedroom.

The real charm of the house, however, is in the rear garden. Enormous and bordered by slightly wild brush, it's the perfect private retreat. The village itself is probably best described as "sleepy" and being in the garden late at night feels like you've taken a step backwards in time. Even during the day it's like you're in a different world, with only the rare car passing or, on Saturdays, noise from the nearby cricket club interrupting the peace.

John opens the passenger door for Rose, suddenly nervous, now that it's too late, about bringing her here. But her eyes are wide and filled with appreciation as she steps out of the car. Something within him loosens at the idea that Rose could grow to love the house as much as he does. "John, it's gorgeous. Is this your house?"

He laughs, "No, not hardly. My friend Jack is the caretaker. The owners have been trying for years to sell it. As long as I don't damage anything they don't mind me staying over every now and then."

"Johnny!"

"Annnnd speak of the devil." John turns to see Jack coming around the house. The American looks beyond smug as his gaze flits between John and Rose.

John moves forward to intercept him. "You are not supposed to be here," he hisses as he allows himself to be pulled into a rib-crushing hug.

"Whoa, Doc, relax. I came to make sure the house was fit for visitors."

"You should have done that days ago. It's a bit late now."

"I was busy. Besides, you were being so cagey on the phone I had to see what the big deal was." He smacks John on the arm then sidesteps him, continuing on to where Rose is standing.

"Hello. Jack Harkness. And who are you?" he asks, taking Rose's hand and bringing her knuckles up for a kiss.

John hurries back to Rose's side. "Stop it," he grumbles, finding it difficult to be amused by what the two friends have long joked is Jack's most successful chat-up line. "Rose, my friend Jack. Jack, this is Rose."

"I was only saying hello, Johnny."

"Yeah, just saying hello, I've heard that one before." John can't help himself, he plucks Rose's hand from Jack's lingering grasp and brings it back down to her side. "And please don't call me Johnny."

"He's so uptight," Jack says to the air, then focuses on Rose, "Don't you think he's too uptight?"

Rose is trying her best not to laugh at their banter. Before she has a chance to answer, John wraps his arm around her waist and guides her a few steps away from Jack.

He's managed to go three whole days without thinking about Rose's preference in men. But Jack is, well, Jack: fit and muscular with chiseled good looks and crystal blue eyes. He's brilliant, charming to a fault, and he's got money, too, though he so steadfastly refuses to discuss its origins that even John doesn't know where it came from or how much of it there is, and he's known Jack for over ten years.

"Why don't you go inside and look around? I'll get rid of Jack and join you in a minute." His eyes are pleading with her to get as far away from his flirtatious friend as possible.

Rose smiles knowingly and he can tell that she's seen right to the heart of his insecurity. "I'll be right here," she replies steadily, and it's a promise, the first suggestion, however tiny, that there might one day be more between them.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"I'll be right back." He walks back to Jack wondering what he's going to say to appease his friend's curiosity and send him on his way.

But Jack isn't looking at him. John looks over his shoulder to see Rose bending over to inspect the flowerbed near the front door. He smacks Jack in the arm when the other man leans a bit to the left and cocks his head to get a better view.

Jack straightens just as Rose turns around. She wiggles her fingers at them in a cute little wave that John finds himself returning automatically.

Jack is watching their interaction with thinly disguised amusement. "I'm impressed, Doc, you probably couldn't have made that any more obvious short of bashing me over the head with your club."

"Jack..." he warns.

"Say no more. Hands off the blonde, I get it. One question, though, you mind telling me how you managed to convince Rose Tyler to spend the night with you in the middle of nowhere?"

"How did you know --" John starts, but Jack is already moving forward, his hands outstretched to Rose.

"Miss Rose, it was a pleasure meeting you, but I must be off. If there's anything you need, I'm right down the road." He kisses her knuckles again. "Be gentle with him," he says suggestively, loudly enough for his voice to carry to where John is standing.

John rolls his eyes and starts to call out to Jack, but Rose's quiet, "Don't worry, I will," stops the words before they form.

Jack offers her a jaunty salute then leaves the courtyard, winking at John as he passes.

And then it's just him and Rose, alone in the countryside for the next 24 hours. John grabs their bags from the car, stopping her when she tries to take her bag from him, and then laughing when both of his hands are so full that she has to open the door to the house.

After dropping their bags in the entryway, he gives her the full tour, taking an inordinate amount of pleasure from the sheer delight in her reactions. The house is mostly unfurnished, only a few items here and there that the owners didn't take with them when they moved out. There's a small sofa in the lounge, but Rose is too busy exclaiming over the vaulted ceiling's exposed beams to even notice how empty the room is around her. The kitchen is small, but still fully functional as all of the appliances were left behind, but there's nowhere to sit and eat because the dining room is empty.

"The owners don't keep anything in the pantry," he says when Rose goes to open it, "but there's a really great pub just a few minutes away."

She pulls the doors open anyway and he sees over her shoulder that it's fully stocked. The refrigerator is the same way, and for a moment he doesn't know whether to thank Jack or throttle him.

"Or we could stay in and cook," Rose suggests, looking at the contents of the refrigerator, and after a quick check to see that, yes, a set of pots and pans have also miraculously appeared, John decides thanks are more appropriate.

He falls for her a little more while watching her hand lightly trace the embellishment on the banister as he follows her up the stairs to the first floor. But it's her tiny gasp of pleasure when she looks out of the master bedroom window to get her first glimpse of the garden below that really completes the picture for him.

He's skipping steps in his mind, he knows he is, but since they set foot in the house he's been imagining this is more than a visit, that it's them building a life together in this home they both love. It's daft, of course, because they're not even dating, but he wants this with her in a way that never felt right with any of his previous girlfriends. And when she turns away from the bedroom window it's like he's jumped ahead a year or more: The room is fully furnished, a large four-poster bed in the place of the small double that's there now, with matching nightstands and a chest of drawers. Curtains adorn the window, further softening the late afternoon light that's streaming through. And Rose walking towards him with a coy smile on her face.

The next room they visit is the other bedroom, and he can tell Rose loves the small pastel pink room even before, "I'll take this one."

He chuckles. "Somehow I knew you'd say that. I'll bring up your bag later."

She loves the attic room, the view from the windows of the Oxfordshire countryside, and how the angles of the ceiling create a cozy, homey space, but all John can see is pastel walls to match the room below, a tiny delicate daybed, and toys strewn carelessly across the room.

* * *

It's late, probably the early hours of Sunday already, but he doesn't want to move. Rose's head is resting on his shoulder, her left hand twined with his right, as he occasionally flexes his foot to gently move the swing they're sitting on back and forth. It is a yawn from Rose, quickly smothered, which finally spurs him into motion.

"Come on, let's get you inside."

"I'm alright," she mutters.

"You're not half dead, Rose." He helps her stand and walks with her to the back door of the house. He opens it, intending to help her inside but she stops him by springing up onto her toes and placing a lingering kiss on his cheek.

"I see why you love it here. Thank you, this was really great."

"You're very welcome," he chokes out.

She gives him a tiny smile and then goes into the house. John returns to the swing. It was nothing, he tells himself, a friendly platonic completely innocent kiss given to him by a woman he desires but is not in a relationship with.

When he finally makes his way back into the house, the door to Rose's room is closed. He wonders as he passes it if she's still awake, listening to his footsteps move down the hallway, and how she would react if he knocked. Would she greet him at the door wearing nothing but one of her tongue-touched smiles?

He keeps walking, but his thoughts are caught up in the fantasy of Rose accepting him into her arms, her bed, her body.  


* * *


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. John Smith is a brilliant computer engineer who believes his new CPU design will revolutionize the industry, but Intel and Apple won't have anything to do with him. Vital Technologies, better known as Vitex, is looking for something that will propel them ahead of their Silicon Valley counterparts, and John Smith's design seems like just the thing.

  
There's something about being at this house that energizes him. It never matters how late he stayed up the night before, he always wakes with the sun, feeling refreshed. The house is quiet and a quick peek into the hallway reveals that Rose's door is still closed. He showers and then heads downstairs to the kitchen.

He puts the kettle on first thing - no fancy electric ones here - then starts digging in the refrigerator for something to cook. He's got the bacon done and is starting the eggs when he hears Rose coming down the stairs. "Good morning! It's not a full English, but --"

Rose rounds the corner and stumbles into the kitchen and his words die in his throat. She's gorgeous, barely half awake and hair still tousled from sleep. She's wearing a silk pyjama set with a long-sleeved button-down top that's slightly askew, exposing the top of her right breast. The bottom half of the pyjamas is a pair of shorts that make the sundress she wore the day before look positively demure by comparison, her legs long and toned beneath them.

She walks right up to where he's set out a pair of mugs and adds sugar and milk to one of them without tasting it first. Then she pads over to the opposite corner of the kitchen and leans against the cupboard sipping at the tea.

Smiling to himself, John returns his attention to the eggs. Definitely not a morning person, then. He slides one egg onto each plate then grabs the toast from the toaster and parses that out as well.

He brings one of the plates over to where Rose is standing and sets it on the worktop behind her. Without thinking, he drops a kiss on the top of her head and is already back to his own plate before he realizes what he's just done. The domesticity of this entire scene has obviously gotten to him, but Rose doesn't say anything and he wonders if she's even awake enough to notice.

He eats, listening for the corresponding sounds from Rose, but the room is otherwise silent. It's drastically different from how they spent dinner the night before, facing each other on the sofa in the lounge as they enjoyed a meal they'd prepared together.

He's about to ask if there's a problem with the food when Rose picks up her plate and walks over to where he's standing, placing herself close enough to him that the two of them brush up against each other with each movement they make. His senses are full of her as she finally begins to eat, the silk of her sleeve tickling the hair of his arm as she reaches for her tea or the slight bump of her hip against his as she shifts from foot to foot.

It's incredibly arousing, to say the least, and a hunger starts building inside of him that has nothing to do with food. He stamps it down mercilessly, forcing it away to the same place he'd sent the thoughts that had accompanied him to bed the night before. He doesn't want to give up the sweet fantasy he's stepped into just yet, and a rejection from her here, in this house, would forever taint it for him.

By the time she's finished her eggs and is starting on her bacon he's already done. He turns around, leaning back into the cupboard and watching her openly. They're going to have to return to London today, but the idea settles uncomfortably inside him.

"We don't have to hurry back," he suggests, "unless you have plans."

She shakes her head, speaking for the first time that morning. "No plans."

"There's a little shop we could visit. I love little shops."

"Okay."

He starts to clean up, sending her away when she brings her empty plate to the sink a few minutes later and offers to help. "I've got it. You go get ready."

He's not at all surprised that it takes her far longer to shower and get dressed than it takes him to wash and put away a handful of dishes. He spends the extra time repacking his overnight bag - definitely not listening to the sounds of the shower coming from her en suite - then walking around the house and garden making sure everything is in its place.

Rose finally comes back downstairs after forty-five minutes wearing a white button down shirt so thin he can see the outline of her bra beneath it, matching capris - no visible panty line and _wow_ he did not need to know that - and carrying a pair of brown sandals. She offers him a hesitant smile. "Sorry about that. I probably should have warned you in advance what I'm like in the mornings."

"Nonsense. I should be the one apologizing for keeping you up so late last night."

"It wouldn't have made a difference, I'm afraid." She shrugs and he understands it to mean that this is just the way she is.

"I'm not offended in the least. Ready to go?"

She smiles broadly and slips her sandals on. "Yep."

It is virtually impossible to take longer than five minutes to get anywhere in Britwell Salome on foot unless you get stopped by one of the locals for a chat. They arrive at the farm shop within minutes of leaving the house and John holds the door open for her.

The owner is an older man John has met on occasion, but he barely lifts his head from his place behind the register to see who has come into the shop. Convinced they're not children intent on mischief, he closes his eyes and does a little shuffle on his stool to get comfortable. The shop is mostly a grocery, with a small area off to one side of items handmade by the various residents of the village.

They've barely started walking around when the door opens again and Jack follows them in. "Rosie!" Rose's eyes widen as Jack pulls her into a huge hug, lifting her feet off the ground. "I thought I saw you two sneak in here," he says once she's back on the ground.

Rose staggers a bit and John knows how she feels. Jack has that effect on people, pulling them in like the gravity well of a black hole. 'Dizzying' doesn't even begin to cover it. John reaches his hand out to steady her and she takes it gratefully. After a second she nods and lets go. "I'll leave you two to talk," she says and then walks away, missing Jack's little pout of disappointment.

"Was it something I said?"

John smacks him. "Personal boundaries, Jack, ever hear of them?"

"Maybe. Once. Oh wait, that was bondage, not boundaries. Nope, sorry, can't say that I have." He chuckles to himself before looking around the shop to see where Rose has gotten to. "Did you two have a nice night?" he asks, somehow managing to make the casual question sound suggestive at the same time.

"We did."

Jack's eyes bulge, but it only lasts for a second. "Well, since you're not the type to kiss and tell, Johnny, I definitely know no kissing happened. Which begs the question: why not?"

"We're not like that."

Jack laughs. "What is it you say? Bollocks?"

"It's not bollocks."

He turns, facing John fully. "You can't be serious. After that little caveman routine you pulled yesterday?" But John just stares back at him. "Oh my God, you are serious. Well, why the hell not?"

"We're friends, Jack. I know the idea that a man and a woman can be friends without sleeping together is a foreign concept to you, but that's exactly what's going on." The shop is small and they've both pitched their voices a hair above 'library', something John is grateful for a second later.

"Doc, it's obvious she's into you --"

"No," he snaps, "it's not. You're seeing what you want to see."

It's Jack's turn to stare blankly at his friend. "Are you that much in denial or just that oblivious? Or have you finally come over to my side?"

John snorts. "You don't have a 'side.'"

"Okay. True. But that question was actually rhetorical. It was the other one you were supposed to answer."

He shifts, taking a step away from Jack. He wants so much more with Rose, and if the direction of his thoughts since they arrived in Britwell Salome is any indication, casual sex is not on the list. He's falling for her, half gone already, but he wants it to be a forever thing, something Jack doesn't even have a concept of. It's utterly mad, of course, because, as impossible as it is to believe, he's only known her two weeks.

"John," Jack says from behind him, his voice quiet and encouraging, "I'm going to assume you're oblivious, because if you're in denial there's nothing I can do for you. Rose came out here, with you. Lord knows how many times I had to listen to you complain about how Joan never would. On top of that, I bet she didn't say one word about you behaving like a caveman yesterday. And I promise you, if she didn't want you to stake a claim, she'd have told you off for acting like such a prat." He drops his voice even further. "Then there's the fact that she hasn't taken her eyes off of you since she walked away."

Despite the urge to whip his head around the shop, John gives himself a second to calm down. Then, slowly, he runs his eyes over every corner of the room until he finds Rose. She's looking down at a small display of scarves laid out on a rough hewn table that might be the oldest thing in the room. In the instant his eyes land on her she looks up, finding him without difficulty. The corners of her mouth twitch and her eyelids flutter to the exact beat of his suddenly racing heart.

Jack's hand lands on his shoulder with all the force of an _I told you so_ , but his friend says nothing and John doesn't even notice when Jack leaves silently a second later.

Rose is studiously avoiding looking at him when he walks up beside her. "It's not exactly Henrik's," he jokes nervously.

"They're lovely," she counters, fingering the dark blue edge of one.

"Would you like it?" he asks, mentally cursing the way his voice has dropped, making the words sound far more intimate than the simple question calls for.

"I couldn't --"

"Or any of them. Anything, actually, if there's something in here that has caught your eye." He forces himself to stop before his gob gets away from him. _Give me some sign,_ he silently pleads, _a touch or word,_ _something that can't be misinterpreted because I'm allowing Jack's view of the world to twist it into something it's not._ "Really, Rose, it would be my pleasure."

Her fingers curl slightly into the blue scarf and he leans forward to touch it too. "This one?" he asks.

They're the only ones in the store now aside from the sleepy proprietor, who still hasn't moved from his place behind the register, but John is leaning into her, only inches separating them, when he could have just as easily moved around her.

She seems so small with him curled around her like this, but not weak, never weak. Delicate. Precious. Something to be protected, cherished, loved. If only she'd let him.

"Maybe this one?" he lets his fingers drift to a purple paisley scarf, taking advantage of the motion to move himself almost imperceptibly closer to her.

"Rose?" he says when she doesn't respond. He's reaching out to touch her, his hand curling so that the backs of his fingers will brush the curve of her cheek. It flashes through his mind that with the tiniest shift of his hips he could have her pressed against the table, a thought which quickly morphs into _he could_ haveher _on the table_. It's sturdy, good craftsmanship, and would support their combined weight easily.

Rose's eyes slide closed and he hears the sound of her inhaling deeply, and though a part of him wants to believe that she's enjoying his scent, she could just as easily be silently begging the whole pantheon of deities for the patience to get out of this without slapping him for being so forward.

"The blue one," she replies, her breath hot and moist against the skin of his neck. "Please."

He reins himself back in, lowering his hand, the one that came so close to touching her, and using his other to slip the blue scarf from her fingers. "Of course."

John pays the old man for the scarf, but really he's only going through the motions, concentrating instead on reliving the last few minutes before pushing them away to the part of his mind now permanently labeled _Rose_ that is becoming increasingly crowded.

She mutters a quiet "Thanks," when he gives her the scarf, and John wonders if she ever really wanted it or if he's just paid fifteen quid because it was a handy way for her to get rid of him.

As they step back onto the street, he debates for a moment prolonging their return to London further by offering to buy her lunch at the Red Lion. It offers an amazing Sunday lunch menu, but as tempting as it is, there's an awkwardness between them now that John doubts they'll survive for the two hours until the pub opens. As it is, the drive back to London is going to be bad enough.

They go back to the house and since they're both already packed there's nothing keeping them there. John makes a mental note to call Jack later to thank him for the food, and then he locks the door behind them.

* * *

"Let me get the door for you," he says even before the car has come to a stop in front of her flat.

Her hand lands squarely on his thigh just above his knee. Even through his jeans he can feel the heat of her skin. "That's not necessary, John. I've got it. I did want to thank you again, though. I had a really great time." She stretches and places a kiss on his cheek.

It's a tiny little peck, a gesture of thanks only, but something he would have given away a kingdom for an hour ago.

"Rose," he says as she opens the door to get out, Jack's words once again echoing in his mind. Apparently his gob doesn't think he's made a big enough fool of himself yet.

"Yes?"

 _Can I buy you dinner sometime? How about tonight? On second thought, don't even bother getting out of the car, I'll take you to my flat instead and you can wrap those amazing legs of yours around my --_ "I'll see you Monday."

"Yeah. Monday."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. John Smith is a brilliant computer engineer who believes his new CPU design will revolutionize the industry, but Intel and Apple won't have anything to do with him. Vital Technologies, better known as Vitex, is looking for something that will propel them ahead of their Silicon Valley counterparts, and John Smith's design seems like just the thing.

  
A disgruntled "Oi, Spaceman," pulls him from his thoughts. "Did you hear me?" Donna asks.

He jumps up from the stool, nearly knocking it over in his haste. "Oh, good morning, Donna."

"Where were you a second ago?" she asks, keeping one eye on him as she puts her purse in the bottom drawer of her desk.

John tries to look away before his mind returns to the events of the weekend, but it's too late and he can already feel the blush staining his cheeks.

Donna's face immediately lights up and her smile turns predatory. "Or, should I say who were you with a second ago?"

"What? No one."

But she's not going to let it go, he can tell, and as he begins scrambling for an excuse, a lie, anything so that he doesn't have to tell her, the door to his office opens.

It's Rose. There's a bounce to her step and she's smiling like the sun breaking through the clouds after a rainstorm. "Good morning, John. Would you like to --" she stops when she notices Donna and her whole demeanor changes. He can almost see the mantle of authority drape over her shoulders. "Oh. Good morning, Ms. Noble." Her gaze moves back to John. "It wasn't important. I'm sorry to have bothered you."

She's backing out of the room and John knows he should just let her go. Donna is watching both of them like a hawk; she's far too smart to miss the way he's grinning like a loon and Rose is looking at him like he hung the stars. It's the flip of his heart caused by that thought that has him following her out into the hallway.

"Good morning," he says, rubbing the back of his neck nervously and trying to sound more calm that he is. He doesn't know why he's so tied in knots, nothing between them has changed. She's still the beautiful unattainable boss's daughter and he's still the skinny bespectacled nerd from Special Projects.

"Hi," she replies a touch breathlessly, her tongue peeking out from between her teeth. She's looking up at him and he's looking down at her, and it's the angles of their gazes that clues him in to the fact that they're standing only about a foot and a half apart. That's definitely changed.

"You, um, needed something?" he asks, mostly to fill the silence, partly to give himself an opportunity to think. Maybe he should ask her out, something more formal than the accidental stargazing invite. The worst she could tell him is 'no' and he'd rather have that sooner than later considering how entangled his emotions already are. Because, as much as he hates to admit it, Jack was right about one thing: Rose hasn't said one negative word about his behavior. Surely if she had some objection to him she would have voiced it by now?

"Some of us are going to lunch at the new Italian place down the road, I wanted to know if you would like to join us."

"Who is 'us'?" Because he still hasn't forgiven Cary in H. R. and he doesn't think he can be nice to Frank Ware for an entire hour.

"Oh, actually, it's just me and Jake from Security right now. You'd make three."

Jake's not only from Security, he's the head of Security, and John has seen him around the building multiple times. A young man, about Rose's age, very handsome, with spiky hair. For some reason that last part causes unrest in his stomach. "No one else?"

"Well," she sways her hips gently from side to side as she draws out the 'l' sound, "I'm going to ask around, but for now that's it, yeah. Is there someone you... Donna maybe?"

He manages to stop himself from blurting out a terrified No. Donna's great, but especially after what just happened in his office, he doesn't want to spend an hour sitting across a table from her as she tries to decipher what, if anything, is going on between him and Rose. Especially when he can't even figure it out himself.

"I don't think so. There's a guy who works in maintenance, Lee something, she usually has lunch with him."

"Oh! Good for her." After a brief uncomfortable pause she adds, "Okay, um, meet me in the lobby about half eleven? We might miss the worst of the lunch crowd that way."

"Sounds good."

Donna is grinning like the cat that got the cream when he walks back into his office. "So!"

John ignores her as he walks over to his worktable and sits down, pulling his prototype closer, only to have Donna walk right up and insert herself beside him. It's going to be a long three hours.

"How is Miss Tyler?"

He mutters something that might be 'fine' in the tone he strictly reserves for when he doesn't want to be bothered. But Donna isn't the least bit deterred.

"She looked happy to see you."

The twitch of his lips is automatic and met by Donna's screeching, "No way!"

He winces. A very long three hours.

"Are you and she, you know, together?"

"No."

"Dating?"

"No."

"You're not..." she gestures obscenely.

"No!"

"Come on, Spaceman, you've got to give me something!"

"No."

"You fancy her."

He opens his mouth and then promptly shuts it.

Donna squeals. "Oh my God!"

An interminable - he glances at the clock - two hours and fifty-eight minutes.

* * *

His impatience gets the better of him so John makes his way to the ground floor at 11:20. He'd finally gotten Donna to stop trying to drill him for information after half an hour by making a promise he actually hopes he'll one day be able to keep: Donna is to be the first to know if his relationship with Rose changes.

To his surprise, when he arrives at the lobby, Rose is already there. He sees her first, standing in the sunlight streaming through the windows at the front of the building, her hair a golden halo around her face. Even from across the lobby, he can see that she's nervous, her posture insecure. She's also alone.

As he gets closer, he sees her bottom lip caught between her teeth and the way she's worrying the hem of her blouse. Then, she catches sight of him and composes herself, but there's still a lingering uncertainty he can't quite put his finger on.

"Where's Jake?" he asks.

"Something came up at the last minute. He won't be able to join us."

"That's too bad." He doesn't really think so. He's only saying it to be polite. In fact, he's kind of glad the spiky-haired pretty boy won't be joining them. "Who else are we waiting on?"

"No one, actually."

"Okay," he says, suddenly thinking this is anything but. In the span of a few seconds this has gone from lunch with a group of co-workers, which happens to include Rose, to Lunch with Rose. Capital letters are not optional. He feels like he's back in the lift on his first day at work, with her standing much too close and him getting all manner of crazy ideas in his head.

The remaining nervousness falls from Rose's face and is replaced by a brilliant smile. "Great. Let's get going then."

She takes his hand automatically when they step onto the pavement, saying nothing when he lets go and then switches sides, deliberately putting himself on her right so that he is walking closer to the street. He wiggles his fingers at her and she slips her hand back into his.

"So, you and Jake?" John asks as casually as he can manage once they're seated in the restaurant. He's still trying to figure out if he was going to be the third wheel or if there really were supposed to be others involved in this lunch.

Rose hums inquisitively at him over the top of her menu, but doesn't answer his question.

"Have you known him long?" he tries again.

"He's been with Vitex about three years. We kind of became friends after he took over Security."

"Just friends then? I mean, you and he aren't --" He can't believe he's even asking. It's none of his business who Rose Tyler is or isn't seeing. Except that it matters. And he very much wants her answer to be no.

"Jake?" she giggles. "No. We dated the same bloke once. Not at the same time, mind, but that's a story for another day." She pauses. "Why? You interested?"

He sputters into his drink, his mind racing to figure out how she ever got the impression that he'd be interested in Jake. Sure, he and Jack are close but it's never been - she lowers the menu and he sees that tongue-touched smile that melts his insides. She's teasing him, he realizes with relief, of course she is.

"Not in Jake," he hears himself answer intently, his lips moving before his brain can filter the words, "no." And there, he's said it, all but declared himself, put it out there between them for her to do with it what she will.

Rose's smile slowly evolves into something mysterious and contemplating. Really, she'd give the Mona Lisa a run for her money. But it's certainly not a declaration of any sort and when the waitress comes by to take their orders he's left still floundering in what he's seriously starting to think is the dreaded 'friend zone'.

After the waitress leaves Rose asks after his project and he inquires about marketing. She seems to understand his answer better than he understands hers, which leads to a lengthy round of teasing of the supposed genius.

"You'll find out soon enough what it's like," she says, and her words are part consoling, part threatening. "We're about to start talking about your project, so you'll be sitting in on quite a few meetings in the near future."

John grabs at his chest and feigns distress, only realizing belatedly that Rose is laughing at him because he's got a fist full of the right side of his shirt and not the left. She's got such a great laugh, bold and unapologetic, mouth open wide as her eyes slide almost completely closed, that for an instant he wonders if he can't feel the beat of a second heart in his chest, his first is so full.

When the food finally arrives it's good, not great, and Rose surprises him when she offers him a bite from her plate. He takes it, mulling over the flavors of the Chicken Parmesan as she watches. "It's good. Better than mine," he adds, spearing a ravioli from his own plate and offering it to her.

Rose allows him to feed her, but the passage of the ravioli leaves a hint of cream sauce on the corner of her mouth. It's automatic, using his thumb to wipe the sauce away, but he encounters her tongue instead and Rose ends up licking him as much as herself.

He wishes fervently that he could freeze time, give himself an extra few seconds to process the feeling of her tongue on his skin, the image of that little dollop of cream sauce on the corner of her mouth. These images are going to haunt him later and he doesn't want any of the details to go missing.

Rose is blushing fiercely and looks like she wants to crawl under the table to hide, which brings up a whole host of ideas best not thought of in public, the least of which would get them thrown out of the restaurant, the worst of which would land them on the cover of tomorrow morning's red tops.

He's becoming more like Jack, it seems, slipping with astonishing ease into the kind of person who can turn any and all situations into innuendo and fuel for blatantly sexual fantasies. The realization nearly makes him groan, but certainty that the noise will be misinterpreted stops him.

There's a matched pair of muttered apologies and they manage to finish eating without any further incidents.

Rose protests when John gestures to himself as the waitress comes by to drop off the check. "You don't have to do that."

"I most certainly do. Lunch with a lovely lady means that I'm paying."

There's a tiny pause before she replies. "Well, then, if I'd known, I would have ordered dessert."

"I've got that covered, too," he says as he hands the waitress his credit card.

"Oh?"

He gestures for her to be patient. "You'll see."

When they leave the restaurant they begin a slow meander back to Vitex. They're almost all the way back when John tugs Rose in the direction of a zebra crossing. He's so full of manic energy by this point that he's having trouble standing still. Despite the uncertainty between them this feels like a proper date. All of the awkwardness from lunch has passed. They're laughing and holding hands, teasing each other mercilessly over the silliest things, and he's having the time of his life.

John guides her to a small bakery tucked amidst the sea of much taller office buildings. He'd discovered it quite by accident one day while wandering around the neighborhood after work and had instantly been charmed by the lovely couple that ran it.

They take their time making their selections, Rose exclaiming over every intricately detailed creation on display and John simply taking delight in her reactions. She approaches everything with a child-like enthusiasm that, for him, usually proves to be more interesting than the thing they're supposed to be looking at. For the daughter of a billionaire, she's surprisingly not jaded and it pleases him to no end that she seems to be enjoying these tiny adventures with him.

After spending several minutes cooing over a tray of truffles made up like barn animals, Rose eventually selects a pink frosted fairy cake with a tiny fondant rosebud on top. John picks one with white frosting and silver ball bearings. Then, nibbling their confections, they make their way back to Vitex.

"Rose," he says just before they get to the large glass windows that mark Vitex's lobby. He's slowed his steps considerably since they left the bakery and Rose has done nothing to hurry them along. He can almost believe that she's as reluctant for this lunch to end as he is.

"Yes?"

He stops completely and turns to face her. "Have dinner with me."

She laughs. "We just had lunch, John."

"No, I mean tonight."

* * *


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. John Smith is a brilliant computer engineer who believes his new CPU design will revolutionize the industry, but Intel and Apple won't have anything to do with him. Vital Technologies, better known as Vitex, is looking for something that will propel them ahead of their Silicon Valley counterparts, and John Smith's design seems like just the thing.

  
_"Have dinner with me."_

_She laughs. "We just had lunch, John."_

_"No, I mean tonight."_

Rose's eyes widen and then her whole face falls. Long before her simple, "I can't," he already knows what she's going to say. It's not just a matter of being unavailable tonight, there's something more holding her back.

Jack was wrong, and he let his hopes become over-inflated because of it.

"I'm sorry. You're right, of course." He walks away from her, ignoring when she calls his name. His empty hand itches all the way back to his office.

Donna is sympathetic. She takes one look at his face and pulls him into a hug that nearly has him in tears right there in his office. Then, in the days that follow, she goes above and beyond the title of personal secretary. John suspects that, in addition to minding him, she's running interference between him and Rose, and he's grateful for it.

He should have known better than to get so wrapped up in her.

"Jean!" He's not used to responding to that name, so it's not until Renée is nearly upon him that he realizes she's called out to him several times.

It's early evening, and he's been wandering around Marylebone since Donna kicked him out of his own office sometime around mid-afternoon.

Renée hurries forward and places a tiny kiss on each of his cheeks. She's impeccably dressed in a loose blue v-neck blouse and white trousers, every hair in place. By contrast, John still feels like he's falling apart. It's been three days since he last spoke to Rose, and it's as though the stars have winked out of his life. The best he can manage so far is shaving in the mornings without cutting himself, clothing is typically whatever is clean and near-to-hand.

He's been useless at work, and has lost a lot of ground over the last few days because of it. Thankfully, his prototype isn't due to Pete for another two weeks, a deadline he should be able to make regardless of this setback.

"Renée," he greets her finally when he realizes he's been staring at her blankly for several seconds. "Tell me you're not lost again."

She looses a controlled little laugh that even to his ears sounds forced. "No. I have only lost my dinner date. But now that you are here, perhaps you would like to join me instead, no?"

He looks down at the beautiful woman hanging on his arm and for the first time since meeting Rose, he is able to push her from the front of his mind. Not completely away, just far enough back that he can function again - more importantly, that he wants to function again.

Hopefully, if he's lucky, Renée might like to see the stars, too. "I would love to." His gaze slides to himself, and it's just as bad as he suspects: jeans and a ratty t-shirt. "Nothing too formal, I hope?"

"No, Jean," she replies, a tiny smile curling the corners of her mouth up, "nothing too formal."

It turns out there's a French bistro on Baker Street she's been wanting to try out. The minute they're inside he moves from cautiously optimistic about Renée to quietly excited. The bistro is elegant without being snobbish, much like her, and it's exactly the kind of place he would have chosen to eat on his own if he'd known it existed.

They have a minor misunderstanding when he moves to help her with her chair and she thinks he's claiming it for himself, but they laughingly sort it out. The next thing he knows, she's conversing in French with their waiter while John just smiles blankly at them.

The waiter disappears and Renée turns her attention back to him. He has to bite his tongue to stop himself from saying something stupid like, "Have you been French long?" but she doesn't appear to notice his hesitation. He manages "What brings you to London?" when it occurs to him that he didn't ask her last time.

"My uncle Charles is researching a new business venture and he likes to throw me at problems first. If I decide I like it, he swoops in and begins negotiations."

"What kind of business is your uncle in?"

"He is in the business of making money."

It's a very matter-of-fact answer, and he once again wonders about the kind of relationship she has with her uncle. She's obviously a trusted advisor if he sends her on these missions, but there's no affection in her voice when she speaks about him.

"How long do you think you'll be here?"

"Well, I don't know, Jean, business is a large part of the reason I travel, but I could be convinced to remain for pleasure after my business is completed."

The waiter returns with a bottle of wine. He shows the label to Renée before uncorking it and pouring them each a glass.

"You will enjoy this," she says, gesturing with her glass. "It is a very good year."

The wine is white, and John has never been much of a connoisseur, but he picks up the glass and sniffs at it before taking a sip. It's dry, dryer than he likes, he can tell that immediately, with a heavy sort of flavor in the background that somehow conjures up images of old men with cigars. He puts the glass back down.

Renée is putting her glass down as well. "It is good, no?"

 _No_ , he thinks, but it's such a little thing that he doesn't mind so much. "Very good." Maybe it will be better with food.

When the waiter comes back a few minutes later to take their orders Renée distracts him by running her bare foot as far up the length of his calf she can get before his jeans restrict her. By the time he recovers from the shock, she's smiling benignly and the waiter is already gone.

John knows he's blinking stupidly at her. "Well."

She picks up her wine again, her smile widening behind the rim of the glass. "Tell me about yourself, Jean, you are so quiet."

"There's not much to tell, really."

"You said you are a scientist. You must be very intelligent."

"Well, I don't like to brag."

Renée sits up quickly and puts her wine glass down. "And why not? If you are good at what you do people should hear about it, no?"

"I suppose..."

"You are too modest, Jean. It does not become you."

He's saved from having to come up with a response by the waiter appearing with their food. As the plate is put in front of him, John realizes he doesn't even know what was ordered. He's never done that, ordered for a date, and it's a little weird being on the receiving end of it.

It appears to be a white fish of some sort with steamed spinach and multi-grain rice. Everything on the plate is covered in a light sauce.

"Bon appetit," Renée says once they're left alone again.

The first bite he takes John convinces himself that there's no way his taste buds are interpreting the flavors correctly. By the time he's swallowing the second bite, he more than suspects that the whole plate is covered in pear sauce. "What is this called?" he asks, trying to keep his voice neutral.

"Poisson aux poire, is it not divine?"

Poisson is a word he knows. He might not speak French, but he can pick out a few words and he's watched enough Disney to know that poisson means fish. "Poire?" It even sounds like --

"Pear. So succulent." Renée has ordered the same thing for herself, and she appears to be thoroughly enjoying it.

He tries to surreptitiously scrape as much sauce off of the fish as he can, but even still he only manages to suffer through a few more bites, the flavor has permeated the fish so completely. The spinach isn't even spinach, it's kale, but it's at least tolerable after he removes the top layer and uses it to create a barricade around the rest so the sauce can't infect it. But the rice is a wash - literally. It's like they washed it in the pear sauce, it's so covered.

It occurs to him that he's not kissing her after she's eaten pears, he doesn't care how far up his jeans her foot goes. But, on the positive side, by comparison the food really does improve the taste of the wine.

Thankfully, conversation over dinner flows well. She's a patron of the arts back in France, and speaks very passionately about music and painting. Of course, he doesn't know anything about music except for what he hears in the radio, and he has about as much artistic talent as a blind poodle, a revelation that sends her into a fit of giggles.

"Oh, let me, please," he says when the waiter comes by later with the check.

But Renée doesn't even slow from pulling her credit card out of her clutch. "Jean, a woman can invite a man to dinner without expecting him to pay for it."

"Well, you don't have to expect it, but I'd like to do it anyway."

"Ah non, it is the twenty-first century, Jean, remember?"

Ten minutes later they're walking quietly down the street arm in arm. She's French, he reminds himself, and obviously raised differently than he was. And really, she's done nothing objectionable. Her company at dinner was great, it's just that the food wasn't to his liking. Actually, not to his liking is putting it mildly, he fears he may never get the taste of pears out of his mouth.

They turn the corner and he realizes that he's unconsciously brought her back to her hotel. Renée looks up at him, as surprised by this development as he is. "Is this goodnight," she asks, but then her voice drops as she brings her fingers up to play at the neck of his t-shirt, "or would you like to come up?"

It's a blatantly sexual offer, and he can't say that the idea lacks merit, but he can smell pears on her breath and that is more than enough to tell him that the evening is over. He lifts her hand to his mouth and kisses her knuckles, ignoring the tiny pout of disappointment she aims at him. "I would love to see you again. Are you available on Saturday? I think I could probably throw together some entertainment."

"Saturday, then, Jean. What time?"

"Um, I don't know. I'll have to make some arrangements first."

She digs in her clutch and pulls out a pen. Taking his hand in hers Renée writes her phone number on his palm. "Here. Make your arrangements and then call me."

"I will. Goodnight, Renée."

"Goodnight, Jean."

* * *

"Johnny, what can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if I could come out to the house again this weekend."

"Ah, a second romantic getaway. And so soon. That is promising. How is the lovely Miss Tyler?"

He didn't want to get into it with Jack over the phone, but he supposes it's inevitable. "I wouldn't know."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you were wrong," he replies bitterly. "I asked her to go out to dinner with me and she said no."

"Just like that, 'no'? I don't believe it. Not with the way she was looking at you."

"She said 'I can't,' and that's no."

"'I can't' isn't no, John. 'I can't' is --"

"It doesn't matter. She said she couldn't and I didn't stick around to listen to excuses. Look, can I come up to the house this weekend or not?"

"I'm not going to let you come up here to wallow."

"I don't want to wallow. I want to show Renée around."

"Wait, Renée? Who's Renée?"

"Renée is... a woman I'm seeing. She's French."

"A woman you're seeing? You were here less than a week ago with Rose and you're already seeing someone else? Have you ever even heard the word 'rebound,' because that is the textbook definition."

"It's not like that. I met her last week, we've gone to dinner. I'd like to get to know her better, show her the stars."

"No."

"What do you mean, no?"

"You can't come. I'm not going to be a part of you doing this to yourself."

"Don't be a prat, just call the owner and ask him if I can come out for the weekend."

He sighs. "I own the house, John. I bought it about six months after they put it on the market when I realized they were never going to find a buyer who cared about it as much as you do. I wanted it to be a surprise - a gift, for when you found someone who would enjoy it with you."

"Jack --"

"Look, whatever happened between you and Rose, you need to talk to her and sort it out. I think you got it wrong or you two got your wires crossed or something. She is right for you, I'm sure of it, and if you're being honest with yourself, I think you know it, too. After you talk to Rose, if you still want to bring Renée up this weekend give me a call and I'll meet you at the house with the keys."

"Jack, I --"

"Yeah, I know. You're a sap and I'm the nicest guy ever. You don't deserve me. Blah blah blah. Fix it, okay?"

"Thank you."

* * *


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. John Smith is a brilliant computer engineer who believes his new CPU design will revolutionize the industry, but Intel and Apple won't have anything to do with him. Vital Technologies, better known as Vitex, is looking for something that will propel them ahead of their Silicon Valley counterparts, and John Smith's design seems like just the thing.

  
There's an email from Pete's secretary in his inbox when he arrives at work the next morning. The email is addressed only to department heads, but since Special Projects is mostly self-directed, nearly everyone on his floor is included on the list of cc'd email addresses. It's a reminder about the annual Board members banquet. Apparently the original invitation went out shortly before he was hired, and so he's left with only a little more than a week's notice.

Though it's phrased politely, with a little reading between the lines, John can tell that it's not the kind of invitation that should be declined lightly. It sounds dead boring, unfortunately, an evening wining, dining, and probably explaining his theory until he's hoarse to old men in suits who won't understand it anyway. The whole thing creates a specific sort of problem for him, however. Not that he has plans for next Saturday, but that the invite includes a plus one, and his mind strays first not to Renée but to Rose, whom he can clearly see has received her own invitation.

As if by thought alone he's conjured her, another email arrives in his inbox, from Rose this time, informing him that his presence is requested in a meeting Tuesday afternoon. She'd warned him that he would have to sit in on marketing meetings soon. At the time, he'd even understood that to mean that he would have to sit in on marketing meetings _with her_. Yet, for some reason it still manages to take him by surprise.

The whole email reads very formally and could almost be mistaken for a form letter except for the last sentence, a timid request to speak with him privately at his convenience. He stares at those words longer than he should, thinking about things like holding hands and sleepy chaste kisses and how 'I can't' might not mean 'no'.

"She asks after you every day."

John jumps clear out of his skin, his heart racing. "Donna!"

But she's already moving away from where she'd been standing while reading over his shoulder, peals of laughter filling the office. "Your face, Spaceman!" She opens the bottom drawer of her desk and deposits her purse inside it.

He has to work to get his heart back under control, but when he does, he finally realizes what Donna has said. "She asks about me?"

Donna's face is the picture of innocence. "Who does?"

"Donna," he warns.

"Yes, Spaceman," she sighs dramatically, "every single day."

He turns back to the computer screen and looks at the email again. He wants to fire off a response, agree to meet her - oh, who is he kidding? He wants to run down to her office and speak with her right this instant. He misses her. "What does she say?"

She nods at the computer. "Why don't you ask her yourself?"

Why doesn't he? Why hasn't he already sent a response? What exactly is stopping him from getting up and going to Rose's office? Renée and the commitment he's made to her.

Deliberately, he closes the email and stands up. "I have a date tomorrow."

"A date?"

"A second date, actually."

"Well, you didn't waste any time," she scoffs. Then, "These dates, is this, um, serious?"

"I don't know. Not yet. The first one just kind of happened. And then I made plans to meet her again. I think it could be, maybe, eventually."

"I see. And Rose?"

He doesn't answer her right away. "Is it unfair to want to see how things go tomorrow first?"

"No, I don't think that's unfair at all as long as you're being honest with yourself and both of them about what you want."

Honest. He spent most of dinner last night not being honest with Renée about the wine, the food, how he felt about her ordering for him and paying for the meal. Things with Rose were never nearly so complicated.

Donna's hand lands gently on his arm. "Does Rose know about this other woman?"

He shakes his head and Donna's lips purse in displeasure. She pats his arm. "No matter what happens tomorrow, talk to Rose on Monday. She deserves to hear from you."

"Yeah."

* * *

He picks Renée up about an hour before the show is scheduled to start, and it's a good thing, too, because traffic is so bad it takes them a full forty-five minutes to get from her hotel to the Planetarium. The final leg of the trip is on foot through Greenwich Park, and halfway through he hops over where he estimates the Prime Meridian is. He's standing on the other side, hands on his hips and very proud of himself, but Renée is only looking at him blankly.

French, he reminds himself. She's probably not familiar enough with the layout of London to even know where they are. "It's the Prime Meridian," he explains, gesturing down at the ground. But there's no physical marker here for her to see, that's up on the hill in the Meridian Courtyard of Flamsteed House. And it's still much too early in the afternoon for the Observatory to have lit the green laser that would pass over their heads. He waves dismissively. "It's not important."

He steps back across - once again stepping over the imaginary line as though there really was something there - and Renée takes his arm again as she lets out another tightly controlled laugh. "Very clever, Jean."

Two thoughts race through his mind simultaneously. The first is that Rose would have gotten the joke, probably without him having to explain it to her. The second is that he's an idiot. He's done this before, let his head be turned by a pretty face, and now he's gotten himself into a situation with someone who wants something from him. He should have noticed it before now; he'd been on his guard immediately with Rose in the lift on his first day at Vitex, but somehow Renée managed to slip in under his radar.

Of course, based on her past behavior, it's entirely possible that the thing she wants is sex, but regardless of her motivation, he's a means to an end for her and it doesn't sit well with him. He can already feel the unease in his stomach that reminds him strongly of secondary school, where a steady stream of so-called girlfriends who were only interested in getting him to write their term papers for them had taught him the difference between sincerity and deceit.

If he was keeping a tally, this would go firmly in the _cons_ column, right above pears.

No. Below pears. Definitely below pears.

But until he discovers what it is that she wants, he's going to try not to assume that it's bad.

Renée's ticket is waiting for them in the Planetarium - he's a member - and they are ushered into the dome just in time for the show. The house lights dim as they find their seats and the dome comes alight with an image of the night sky.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, the heavens are going to put on a lovely display for you tonight..."

"Jean," Renée hisses in his ear, "when you said we were going to a show, I thought you meant the theatre. What is this?"

"It's called The Sky Tonight," he whispers back. "It's a tour of the night sky and all of the stars we'll be able to see once it gets dark."

His name coming over the speakers catches his attention. "Is that Dr. Smith up there?" He sits up a little straighter and gives the man at the podium below a wave. "Good afternoon, John. Did you have something you wanted to add?"

"No, thank you, Felix," he calls back, his face warm with embarrassment. "You're doing a fine job."

When Felix starts speaking again, John can hear the amusement in the other man's voice. Renée leans over again as soon as he's settled back into his chair, "Perhaps I do not understand. We are watching the same stars that will be freely available to view in just a few hours?"

"It's more than that, it's --" he stops when he realizes they are starting to garner attention in the form of dirty looks and affronted noises from the people sitting around them. "Oh, just watch."

Renée sits back in her chair and John looks up at the constellations being projected onto the dome. Five minutes later, Renée's hand starts inching its way across his lap and he nearly jumps into the next row of seats. He takes her hand and twines his fingers with hers, keeping them firmly on the armrest between their chairs.

He hasn't held her hand before, but it's immediately obvious that it doesn't fit right in his, a feeling that bothers him for the rest of the show. That goes firmly in the cons column, too.

She's not even trying to enjoy the show, squirming in her seat and looking around the room like a bored child, and multiple times he has to bite his tongue to stop from reprimanding her. Rose would have enjoyed the show, he thinks, and then, once he's made that comparison, others come at him in rapid succession: Rose's hand fits perfectly in his. Rose would appreciate the simple picnic he's got stashed in the boot of his car, a picnic he'd planned to enjoy under the London stars. Those plans are scrapped now. Even if his stomach wasn't churning, the little voice inside of him that should have warned him from the beginning there was something off about Renée is now screaming at him to get away from her as quickly as possible.

And, the biggest one of them all: Rose never made him feel like she wanted something from him. He's definitely an idiot, and he's seriously beginning to regret not asking her the meaning of 'I can't'.

When the lights come back on, Felix is trying to get his attention, but John grabs Renée's elbow and leads her out of the dome. He can't imagine introducing her to the astronomer, because though Felix is only an acquaintance, he deserves better than whatever disdain John now suspects Renée will throw his way. It's deeper than that as well, he hopes to one day bring Rose here and he doesn't want to have to explain to her or Felix about Renée.

Most of the people exiting the show are headed over to the Observatory, but John walks in the direction of the car park instead. They've barely cleared the hill when Renée turns to him, "Where are we going to next?"

Without even slowing to look at her, he answers, "Back to your hotel."

"Oh my, and so early in the evening, too, how very promising."

Now he does stop. He can't believe she'd be so oblivious, so single-minded, to completely misjudge his mood so egregiously. As he's standing there, utterly dumbstruck, Renée closes the distance between them and presses her lips against his.

It's wrong. More wrong than the feeling of her hand in his, more wrong than forcing him to eat pears for dinner. He puts his hands on her hips to push her away from him, but she misreads that gesture as well and moves closer. It takes every bit of willpower he has to separate himself from her politely.

She's smiling up at him in a way he expects would have other men falling at her feet, and he offers her a small smile in return. Renée takes his arm again, pressing her body as close to his as she can while still allowing them both to walk. Her breast is pressing against his arm, and if he wanted he could look down the neckline of her blouse to get an unobstructed view of her... _assets_ , but he's not even vaguely tempted.

Traffic does him a favor for once, and it's only twenty minutes later he's pulling up to the Dorchester. Renée looks at him in confusion when he comes around to help her from the car while simultaneously waving away the valet.

"Jean?"

He kisses her hand for what he suspects will be the final time. "Good night, Renee."

She pouts, but steps back from the car. He doesn't know how he ever mistook her for Rose. She's an alabaster statute, beautiful to look at but with none of Rose's warmth. He's suddenly very grateful Jack didn't want him to bring her to Britwell Salome.

John replies to Rose's email as soon as he gets back to his flat, try to keep his words cool and collected and probably failing on both counts. He's in the kitchen a few minutes later putting away the food from his aborted picnic with Renée when he hears the chime of an email arriving. The corner of his desk gets in his way when he rounds it too fast and he slams his foot into one of the legs. As he hops the remaining distance to his chair, he thinks that if it's just spam he'll scream.

It's from Rose.

_John,_

_I will be out of the office all day Monday for a conference, leaving me only Tuesday morning to prepare for the meeting that afternoon. I would be glad to meet with you immediately following the meeting._

_Thank you for replying. It was very good to hear from you._

_Rose_


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. John Smith is a brilliant computer engineer who believes his new CPU design will revolutionize the industry, but Intel and Apple won't have anything to do with him. Vital Technologies, better known as Vitex, is looking for something that will propel them ahead of their Silicon Valley counterparts, and John Smith's design seems like just the thing.

  
Tuesday doesn't come fast enough for John's taste. His dreams, both waking and sleeping, have been full of Rose and range from the incredibly erotic to the utterly domestic: flashes of skin and the scrape of her nails against his back one night, visions of the two of them walking together, a small blonde child skipping merrily between them, the next.

Donna hugs him tightly before she leaves for the day, a silent offer of encouragement. He has decided to give her the afternoon off. It's a nice day and there's no reason for her to be stuck at her desk if he's going to be out of the office in a meeting. Besides, he has the sneaking suspicion - she's mentioned it no fewer than a million times with varying degrees of subtlety - that Lee also has the day off.

After lunch he takes the stairs to the sixth floor hoping the minor bit of exercise will bleed off some of his nervous energy. It's been eight days since 'I can't', and he's more on edge now than he was when he asked Rose to dinner in the first place. At the forefront of his mind is that there's still been no hint their private conversation will result in anything more than two friends reconciling.

But he hopes.

The first thing he sees when he opens the stairwell door on the sixth floor is Rose, leaning over the shoulder of one of her co-workers as they discuss an ad that is laid out across the desk in front of them. She looks up at the sound of the door closing behind him, and John is holding his breath because this moment is going to set the tone for the rest of the afternoon, possibly - hopefully! - the rest of his life.

She smiles, and John would have liked to think that in the three weeks he's known her he'd become familiar with all of Rose Tyler's smiles... but he's never seen one like this before. It's big, huge, threatening to encompass her whole face while above it the corners of her warm and welcoming eyes crinkle in the corners. Her feet do this tiny little shuffle and he knows without a doubt that she's barely restraining herself from running to him. He basks, smiling back at her, and it feels like he's come home after a long absence.

He doesn't know how long they stand there like that, smiling at each other from across the room, but eventually the woman sitting at the desk looks up to see why Rose is no longer paying attention. She follows Rose's gaze to him and back again, then she nudges Rose with her elbow.

Rose starts like she's coming out from under a spell. She looks down at the other woman, who looks back knowingly before pointing at the ad they're working on. Rose glances back up at him and now there's a blush staining her cheeks. _"One minute,"_ she mouths.

John nods and shoves his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels, his hope soaring.

After a few minutes, Rose finishes and crosses the room to him. "Hi," she says as she approaches him.

"Hi," he offers back, extending his hand between them. Around them people are starting to move into the conference room, and they will soon have to follow, but he wants to feel her hand in his, even if it's only for a brief moment. Without any hesitation at all, Rose's hand finds his, her fingers threading into the spaces he's made for her. As his hand closes around hers, his world, so off kilter since 'I can't,' finally rights.

He pulls her closer, backing into the wall behind him so that they are out of the way of people passing. Jack would call it caveman behavior, but John doesn't care, a part of him crows when Rose moves easily with him. They end up only inches apart, and when she looks up at him with her bottom lip caught between her teeth, John nearly kisses her right then and there.

"I've missed you," he says instead, not yet willing to cross the line between friends who happen to hold hands and friends who snog. His ongoing dreams have blurred that line in his mind, but they've got a conversation ahead of them that needs to be had before anything more can happen between them.

Rose leans forward and rests her forehead on his chest. "I've missed you, too, so much."

John wraps his other arm around her shoulder, pulling her even closer, as Rose's arm finds his waist and squeezes. He lowers his mouth to her ear, murmuring her name softly.

She groans and squeezes him even tighter. They could have the conversation right now, he reasons - they're already doing everything but actually saying the words.

A polite cough forces some distance between them. "Rose, we're ready."

Rose looks up at the young woman standing close by. "Thank you, Hannah." She waits, but Hannah doesn't move away. Looking back at him, Rose rolls her eyes.

John chuckles and glances at the dragon watching over them, Rose's quiet "We'll talk after, yeah?" bringing his attention back to her.

Cupping her face in his hands, John toes his own boundaries by kissing her forehead. Rose's whole body relaxes against him again, her pleased sigh ghosting across his neck. "Yeah," he replies.

Hannah clears her throat and, reluctantly, they separate.

When Rose walks into the conference room, the woman he's spent the last few minutes cuddling falls away to be replaced by the executive. "Ladies and gentlemen, if we could get started." She pauses while a few stragglers find their seats.

There's a place for him near the head of the table where Rose is standing and as he makes his way towards it she speaks again. "For those of you who haven't had an opportunity to be introduced, this is Dr. John Smith, the newest member of Special Projects." He waves as he sits and there are a few muttered welcomes and hellos. Most of the people in the room are from Rose's division, marketing and sales executives, with a few secretaries thrown in for good measure; he only recognizes two or three faces.

Hannah is the last one to enter the room. She closes the door with a nod to Rose then sits opposite him at the table.

"All right. Let's jump right in. David, how are the numbers from last quarter?"

The first half of the meeting bores him to tears. It's all about the company's performance last quarter, profit margins, and expectations for this quarter. He zones out completely until he hears, "What do the tech news outlets say about the competition?"

"Apple is talking about the next iPhone."

Someone in the back of the room snorts. "When is Apple not talking about a new iPhone?"

The conversation heats up quickly and when it looks like the room is on the verge of dividing into an iPhone versus Android argument, Rose pulls everyone back to task with a terse "Moving on, please."

"There's a rumor going around that Asus is looking to purchase lots of seven inch Gorilla Glass."

"Seven inches? What's their current tablet?" Rose asks.

"Ten point one."

"Smaller tablet?" someone guesses.

"Well, I certainly hope it's not a phone," says the same person who'd accidentally started the iPhone/Android debate.

"Keep an eye on that one," Rose says, nodding at Hannah.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Anything else?"

Hannah looks up from her notebook, "Intel is promising their next chip will be five per cent faster than anything else on the market."

"Five per cent." Rose nods, feigning being impressed. "I think this is as good a time as any to ask Dr. Smith his opinion. Dr. Smith?"

All eyes in the room turn to him and he shifts uncomfortably in his chair. His design is brilliant - stone cold brilliant, if he's allowed to say so himself - but as unfocused as he's been lately, there's a moment where he's pretty sure he could talk, just not so sure he'd be coherent.

Then Rose's expression changes, becomes encouraging, "Come on, John."

His chest fills with warmth, confidence. He'd forgotten how easily she bolstered him. John stands and takes her place facing the rest of the room. "For years the only way to improve CPU processing speed was to force the chip to run more calculations per second. This has the unwelcome side effect of increasing heat output, and eventually we run into a wall where we can no longer keep the heat under control. My design is very simple: I've reduced the number of impulses giving the instructions, leaving more room to use for actual processing." He stops, finally noticing the sea of blank faces staring back at him then he glances at Rose, who is barely containing her amusement. Apparently she's the only other one in the room who understands what he's saying.

"Combined with multi-core processors, I expect to receive a fifty per cent increase in overall processing speed. The result will double all of the advances we've made over the last ten years."

"That's impossible!" someone shouts.

"It's not impossible. The design is solid. My working prototype will be finished by the end of next week."

"And we need to be able to sell it," Rose adds, moving back to the head of the table. John gladly sits down, letting her take charge again.

"I don't think selling it will be a problem," another voice offers, "keeping up with demand, maybe, but not selling it."

Rose smiles. "I'd say that's a good problem to have." Several of the others agree. "All right. So, over the next week let's brainstorm for a name and start putting together some teaser ads."

There's several seconds where the only sounds in the room are pens scratching on paper.

"All right. Anything else?"

"What does Bad Wolf say about Intel?"

John looks from the secretary who asked the question to Rose, disbelief coursing through him. Bad Wolf is a known hacker and he's shocked to hear that Vitex is affiliated with him.

Rose smiles tightly. "Intel may be saying five per cent, but they're really looking to squeeze seven or eight out of their next chip. It won't touch Dr. Smith's design, though, so I think we're in the clear on this one. Are there any other questions?"

They're being so blasé about this that it astonishes him. No one in the room save him is even surprised by the mention of the hacker. "What guarantee do we have that we're protected from Bad Wolf?"

Rose smiles indulgently and Hannah giggles outright.

He glares at the girl. "I don't see what's so funny. This is a legitimate concern. If there's a hacker out there who can get into Intel, then I think we need to be concerned about protecting ourselves."

Rose looks around the room. "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen." It's an obvious dismissal, and the shuffling of papers and shifting of bodies in chairs starts almost immediately. Slowly the others file out of the room until only John and Rose remain.

"Rose, hackers are serious business. I've heard the name Bad Wolf before and he doesn't mess around."

She closes the conference room door then walks right up to where he's sitting and hops up onto the table beside him. John is instantly distracted as she slowly crosses her legs. She's sitting primly, but she's only about a foot away from him, her legs smooth and bare beneath her knee-length skirt.

He wants her desperately, wants to get past the conversation they still need to have so that they can pick up where they left off outside of the conference room, preferably with kissing and his hand inching up her thigh. But now they're stuck having a conversation about a hacker instead.

"John, we don't have to worry about Bad Wolf because he works for us." He tears his gaze away from her legs to meet her eyes.

"You can't trust him. A hacker's loyalty can easily be bought."

"Not this one."

"You can't be sure of that. They'd sell their own mothers for the right price."

She looks down, speaking so softly that he doesn't hear her at first. "It's me, John. I'm Bad Wolf."

* * *


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. John Smith is a brilliant computer engineer who believes his new CPU design will revolutionize the industry, but Intel and Apple won't have anything to do with him. Vital Technologies, better known as Vitex, is looking for something that will propel them ahead of their Silicon Valley counterparts, and John Smith's design seems like just the thing.

  
There's so much information suddenly processing through his brain that his ears temporarily shut down. Bad Wolf: expected age, early 30's; presumed male - he fits the profile better than she does, actually, with his background and experience. Known for exposing several critical flaws across multiple Windows operating systems, including the JPG vulnerability in Windows XP. But that was ten years ago, she couldn't have been any older than fourteen or fifteen.

"I was fifteen," she says, and John realizes he spoke that last bit aloud. "Barely. Then, two years later, I was sent down from Uni because I'd uncovered a scam involving a few members of the school administration. They were charging the students for brand new top-of-the-line laptops but giving them two and three year old used machines. It had been going on for years, but amazingly no one had noticed, and the people getting their pockets lined weren't too happy that I had.

"So, I came to work for Dad. The marketing thing is a cover. Sure, I sign some papers and draw up a few really terrible ads, but mostly my job is spying on the competition. For eight years it's been my life." Her voice drops, becomes deliberate, "And it wasn't a problem until it interfered with something I wanted."

"What --" he starts, but the look she gives him stops him cold. Oh. _Oh!_ He smiles and she offers him an impish grin in return, which only makes him smile bigger.

"There's a mark here in London, an undersecretary at Intel. He monopolized my evenings and I couldn't break pattern with him." She takes a deep breath, continues, "After our lunch I rushed the last stage of the plan. It was some of the sloppiest work I've ever done, but I got lucky. It worked and I got in. Their design notes, the timetable for their new chip, their expectations, I've got it all. You heard what I said in the meeting; you're going to blow them out of the water, John."

"You could have told me."

Rose shakes her head. "I wanted to, but you have to understand how careful I have to be."

"You're trusting me now."

"It was never a matter of trust. Not with you."

A horrible thought occurs to him. "Are you sleeping with him?" he blurts.

"What? No!" she gasps, horrified, her brow furrowing and her lips puckering like she's just sucked on a lemon. "If you'd ever seen him you wouldn't even have to ask."

Ah, yes, her type. "Rose, I'm not --"

"You are," she interrupts, and it's a gentle but firm reproof. "Of course you are. I hope that hasn't been what's held you back this long, because trust me, you are. You're gorgeous and brilliant, and spending time with you... I love it. But I couldn't pursue you. I'm a department head, the CEO's daughter. It had to be you, John, you had to make the first move. And then you were and it was perfect, right up until you asked me to have dinner with you and I realized I couldn't say yes. It was never because I didn't want."

He's quiet for a long time, processing. Rose Tyler wants him - _him_ \- sure, he'd guessed from her behavior outside the conference room, but to hear her actually say the words -- her voice, tremulous and uncertain, breaks through his thoughts. "Are we good?"

He stands and cups her cheek, his heart racing when Rose covers his hand with her own to keep it there. But despite this closeness, he hasn't given her an answer, and there's a vulnerability to her that he's never seen before. "John? Are we --"

He closes the distance between them, cutting her off. At first it's merely a faint brush of lips against lips, testing the waters, judging her reaction. After a few seconds he pulls far enough back to see the acceptance in her expression before renewing the contact. The second kiss is just as gentle, sweet, neither of them are pushing the other to deepen the kiss.

Rose breaks the kiss first. She hums against his lips, "I've wanted to do that for a long time."

"How long?"

"Since the lift that first day."

John groans. "Me too."

She bites her lip, her hand coming up so that her fingers can trace the shell of his ear. He turns his face to kiss the inside of her wrist. "Actually, that's not true at all," she says, and he turns back to her, confused.

Rose grabs the front of his shirt and pulls him closer. "I've wanted to do _this_ since that first day." And then she's kissing him, and there's no longer anything gentle about it. It takes John only a second to catch up, but when he does, he wraps his arms around her and forgets entirely that they're still in the office because it's _right_ and _yes_ and _perfect_ and _more_.

Her legs fall open at the same time he accepts the invitation of her mouth, and he takes a half step closer to her. The brush of her knees on the outside of his thighs is the most erotic sensation he can imagine until he wraps his arms tighter around her and scoots her all the way to the edge of the table. Rose squeaks in surprise as she slides forward on the silk lining of her skirt, but the skirt itself doesn't move against the table and the result is that he's just hiked it up another three inches. He's cradled in her hips now, the full press of body against body, and there's no way she can mistake how much he wants her.

He would be embarrassed at how easily he's gotten to this point except the heels of Rose's shoes are curling into the backs of his calves and her hands are tangled in his hair - and, frankly, he doesn't much care beyond that.

A knock on the conference room door tears them apart, but even the fear of being discovered in such a compromising position isn't enough to make him step fully out of her embrace. John closes her thighs and helps her right her skirt, but that's as far as he moves. Then he runs a hand through his hair in an attempt to straight it, but Rose takes one look at him and her eyes soften. "It's hopeless," she says, and there's a new layer to her voice that may as well be a musician plucking the strings of his body for the effect it has on him. "No one is going to look at you and wonder what happened in here."

His eyes roam over her, her disheveled hair, her half-lidded eyes, the fact that most of her lipstick has been smeared off. There's a surge of pride inside of him; he's done this to her. "You look more than a little tousled yourself."

Rose's eyes flare and her tongue peeks out from between her teeth. "Good."

John growls and moves forward again, but a second knock, this one merely perfunctory, precedes the door opening just a crack.

"Rose?"

He growls again, predatory and possessive this time, and Rose pushes his head down to her shoulder before he has a chance to snap at her secretary. With what's remaining of his sanity, he manages to be thankful that Hannah is firmly on the other side of the door and can't see them from that vantage.

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry to bother you, but you wanted me to remind you about the new web ads."

Rose swears under her breath. "All right. Give me a minute, please?"

"Of course, ma'am."

The door clicks shut again.

"I have to handle this."

John turns his face to the side of her neck and places a kiss there. Rose shivers against him and her head lolls back a bit. Encouraged, he slides his hand into her hair to hold her in place then kisses again, his tongue darting out to taste her before his lips close on her skin.

Rose keens and shifts against him, her knee accidentally brushing against his erection. He shudders and groans into her neck, and Rose stiffens in his arms.

He straightens immediately, panic flowing through him. "What is it? Is this okay?"

" _This_ ," she replies placing her hands flat on his chest, "is going to be _brilliant_. _We_ are going to be brilliant. But there is a time and place, and this is not it."

He looks around the conference room and blushes sheepishly. "Yeah, I suppose you're right."

"Ask me again, John."

It takes him a second to figure out what she means. Then, when he finally does, "Rose Tyler, would you like to have dinner with me sometime?"

"Sometime?" she asks, a touch uncertain.

"Anytime? _Every_ time. Tonight, tomorrow... forever?"

Her tongue makes an appearance even before he finishes speaking, and then when he utters the last word, her expression changes to one of wonder. "I - I would love to."

And then he makes his best effort to remove the rest of her lipstick.

Rose pulls away from him after a few minutes, but rather than put an end to their new intimacy, John just rests his forehead on hers.

"I really should go," she says breathlessly. Then she gestures vaguely between them to the area below his belt. "Are you going to be all right?"

He nods, placing a tiny kiss on her forehead as he straightens. "Not right away. Maybe not even for a while, but yeah."

"Good. I'm going to go pretend to be a focused, diligent employee for a few minutes and then we, Dr. Smith, are going to have that dinner." Rose hops down from the table, and spends a moment righting her clothes and running her fingers through her hair. "Presentable?"

He looks her over then nods, because he's afraid if he gathers up the courage to say what he's thinking then he'll never let her leave. As it is, when she stretches to place a chaste kiss on his cheek it takes every ounce of willpower John has not to grab her, lift her back up onto the table, and continue where they left off. Rose smiles knowingly at him as she backs away, and as soon as the door closes behind her he begins trying to calm himself.

Hannah keeps Rose busy considerably longer than a few minutes, but John is grateful for the time. When he finally gets himself under control he takes out his mobile and sends a text, just three words: _Dating Rose Tyler_ , and swears he can hear Donna's corresponding scream from across London.

* * *


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. John Smith is a brilliant computer engineer who believes his new CPU design will revolutionize the industry, but Intel and Apple won't have anything to do with him. Vital Technologies, better known as Vitex, is looking for something that will propel them ahead of their Silicon Valley counterparts, and John Smith's design seems like just the thing.

  
Dinner quickly turns into lunch, and then another dinner, over and over until by the time Friday morning rolls around they've spent more time together than apart. Whether it's the Vitex canteen or any restaurant in Marylebone they can get into on a whim, it doesn't really matter to them - so long as it's not the French bistro. Rose doesn't seem to know it exists and John is not about to point it out to her.

It's by far not the worst secret he's keeping. Neither is his surprise ownership of the house in Britwell Salome. No, that dubious honor is reserved for the multitude of phone calls he receives on a daily basis from Renée. He's managed to put her off since their disastrous last date by pleading work constraints, but it's gotten to the point where he realizes he's stringing her along and the guilt has started to eat at him. Because, even if things don't work out with Rose - a possibility he's not even allowing himself to consider - he would never go back to Renée.

Thankfully, Donna hasn't mentioned the "other woman" all week, she's too busy ribbing him endlessly about his new relationship with Rose. She's like a big sister and best friend all rolled into one, but when she smirks knowingly at him every time Rose walks him to his office door he doesn't know quite what to do with her. Honestly, it's a little strange having a third party want his relationship to work out just as much as he does, and he's got both Donna and Jack firmly in that corner.

"Oh, John," Rose says, poking her head back into his office only a few seconds after they'd parted ways. Her eyes flick over to where Donna is spectacularly failing to hide her amusement. "Sorry, Donna, I'll be out of your hair in a jiff."

"Oi," he complains loudly, then scowls as he points at Donna, "Uh, I'm starting to sound like you."

"Oi! Watch it, Spaceman."

Now it's Rose whose lips are curling up into a grin. "And you," he says, sidling up to her, "this is my office. If you're in anyone's hair, it's mine."

"You think you're so impressive, don't you, Dr. Smith?" she replies, bringing her hand up to brush against the ends of his hair. "You and your hair."

Rose has definitely become more relaxed around him over the last few days. She's affectionate now in a way that's the polar opposite of the woman he thought he knew, and it's a wonderful change. Whereas before he'd hoped for some sign from her, now his life is full of exactly this kind of tiny touches, as well as knowing glances and kisses.

Only kisses. Though the idea is constantly roaming around in the back of his mind, the closest they've gotten to actually having sex was that moment in the conference room. There's surprisingly little urgency; most of the time having Rose beside him holding his hand is enough for John, and she seems content to let him take the lead.

"I am so impressive," he replies.

He's shuffling his feet, spreading them out to reduce the height difference between his lips and Rose's when Donna's voice breaks through, "OI! I am standing right here!"

Rose's grin bursts into a brilliant smile. "Sorry, Donna," they chorus.

"So, as I was saying," Rose continues after they've put some space between them, "There's a show at the Planetarium I thought you might like. We could skip out of work early and go."

He hasn't been back to the Planetarium since his date with Renée. He hasn't had the opportunity, really, with all of the time he's been spending with Rose. A part of him feels almost as though to agree would be some sort of weird attempt to recreate that night, even though he knows nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, not to put too fine a point on it, taking Renée to the Planetarium had been an attempt to recreate what he'd found with Rose in Britwell Salome. The whole thing gets kind of wibbly-wobbly in his head if he thinks about it too hard, though.

"It's about aliens," she adds when he doesn't answer right away. "You seemed kind of keen on the whole space travel thing --"

"Sounds great."

"Really?"

She sounds surprised. As if there was any doubt he'd say yes. "Yeah, really."

"Okay. Late lunch then we'll head over to the Planetarium?"

"Perfect."

Rose stretches and places a kiss on his cheek. "I'll see you then. Bye, Donna!"

"Bye, Rose."

Eight hours later he sits contentedly beside Rose, their hands twined together, as they listen to Rupert Grint's voice talk about the search for extraterrestrial life. John could probably narrate the show himself; he's seen it five times already - well, six now, but he wasn't going to tell Rose that. Afterwards, when most of the other patrons are leaving, she begs him to stay for Sky Tonight, and when Rose Tyler looks at him like that, he can't tell her no.

The sun is starting to set when they step back outside and a mutual glance has them hurrying back to his car for the picnic blanket that has taken up permanent residence in the boot. They find a spot close to one of the footpaths in the park. The light pollution is just as bad as John knew it would be and he can't help but draw comparisons to the last time they were under the stars together.

Rose shifts in his arms to face him more than the sky. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Everything's perfect." He lifts his head and presses his lips to hers.

"You're so quiet. I know you're thinking about something, and it's not the stars."

It is the stars, in a way. He itches to tell her about the house, about how it's his and how much he wants to share it with her. "Did you like the house?"

"I did."

He scoots out from under her and lies so that they're facing each other. "Did you love it - don't tell me yes unless it's true."

"John, what are you thinking?" she asks, her voice full of concern.

"Let's go back. Right now. Just get in the car and go. We could make a weekend out of it."

"The whole weekend?"

"Yes."

"With no clothes?"

"Ah. That might make things interesting." Her leg slides along his deliberately and suddenly his body is thrumming with arousal, his skin tingling where they're touching. John pulls her closer, nuzzles her collarbone with his nose. "What do you say?"

"I say that tomorrow is the Vitex banquet, and I've already bought my dress."

His whole body slumps. "I forgot all about that. I don't suppose we can miss it?"

"You could, but I can't."

John places a tiny kiss on the top of her nose, "Well, I'm not going to make you go alone."

"Thank you." She's silent for a minute, lying there in his arms. Then, "I loved the house."

* * *

"John!" He looks up from adjusting his cuffs and is struck speechless by the vision hurrying towards him. Rose is wearing a sparkling ankle-length royal blue gown with a matching shrug. Her hair is pulled up in an elaborate, loose style he doesn't have a name for, but a few strands have been curled and left hanging near her face. He opens his mouth to speak, but has so much trouble forming the words that he ends up just gaping at her. "Thank goodness you're here." She lifts a glass of something bubbly off of a passing tray and shoves it into his hand.

He laughs as she links her arm with his and drags him further into the room. "That bad?" he finally manages.

"These things are dead boring," she says, confirming his original fears about the banquet as she nods absently to a group of their coworkers. "And in about two hours old man Pennybaker will have had a few too many and will get handsy with any female not in the company of an escort."

"Ah, so I'm your bodyguard."

She laughs and draws herself away from him slightly. "Well, you'd make a terrible date, you haven't even complimented me on my dress yet."

John stops walking and turns to her. He finds her hand with his own and brings it up to his lips, placing a kiss on her knuckles. "Miss Tyler, the only reason I have not complimented you on your dress is because the sight of you stole the air from my lungs."

Rose smacks him playfully on the shoulder. "Shut up."

He takes a step closer to her, stopping when he feels the skirt of her dress pressing against his trousers. They're inappropriately close together given the setting, but he doesn't care. Somehow the entirety of the room around them has fallen away, people and conversations fading to the background of his consciousness.

His voice thick now that he's found it properly, he says her name, caressing the syllables with his tongue, "Rose Tyler, the dress is lovely. However, the woman inside of it is stunning whether she's wearing a set of rumpled pyjamas or a designer gown. And I am honored - honored - and humbled to have her on my arm tonight."

Rose's eyes are wide and shimmering. Her lips, bright red against her fair skin, part, and he's leaning towards her when the din of the room reasserts itself.

He blinks and straightens, an apology ready on his lips until he sees the look of disappointment on Rose's face. John leans forward again, his body singing when Rose turns her face towards him, but he narrowly avoids her seeking lips. "Later," he whispers into her ear, "when I don't have to worry about smearing your lipstick."

She's smiling this time when he pulls away from her, a becoming blush staining her cheeks. "Okay," she concedes, bumping her shoulder against him. "Maybe you're not such a rubbish date after all."

When his attention returns to the room at large he's surprised to learn that only a minute or two has passed. No one seems to have taken note of their private conversation.

Rose takes his arm again and leads him around the room, introducing him to the various members of the Board when they happen upon them. Pennybaker is first, and John is disgusted to learn the old man can barely keep his hands to himself even this early in the evening. After Pennybaker it's Russell, who only appears to be a part of the Vitex Board because he believes it's going to make him a very wealthy man. Then it's Cunningham, an older Scottish gentleman who last paid attention to technology at the advent of the 8-track tape. And finally, Abramson, Severn, and Fraser, who are standing together in a tight knot of conversation. John is delighted when he discovers that here his reputation has preceded him, and Abramson pulls him into their discussion effortlessly with a question about his design. He spends the better part of half an hour talking over the mechanics of it with them, not even noticing when Rose slips away.

The feeling of her hand returning to his captures his attention. "Gentlemen, I'm going to steal Dr. Smith away from you now; it's time for dinner."

"Is it that time already?" Severn asks, to which Rose mutters something about boys and their toys.

It doesn't even occur to him that there's still one member of the Board he hasn't spoken to tonight until Rose is gesturing him to a chair not quite opposite her at the table, placing him directly at Pete Tyler's left hand. He's spoken to Pete numerous times, which makes it ridiculous that the prospect of eating dinner with him should cause such an immediate unrest in his stomach, but they've not had an opportunity to talk since John started seeing Rose.

What do you say to the man you eventually hope to ask for his daughter's hand?  


* * *


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. John Smith is a brilliant computer engineer who believes his new CPU design will revolutionize the industry, but Intel and Apple won't have anything to do with him. Vital Technologies, better known as Vitex, is looking for something that will propel them ahead of their Silicon Valley counterparts, and John Smith's design seems like just the thing.

  
He hasn't yet come to terms with the idea of having dinner with Pete when an older blonde woman arrives, sitting opposite him between Pete and Rose, and John recognizes her as Rose's mother. Thankfully, he's saved from needing to immediately come up with something to say as Pete stands and gives a short welcoming speech. There's a round of polite applause when he finishes followed by the waiters beginning to serve the first course.

Though there are nearly forty people seated at the table, the end they occupy is fairly well insulated. There's the Tyler family and him, then Jake from Security and his date, a handsome young man who apparently has been around long enough to be familiar with everyone. After Jake is Laura from the canteen and her husband. Anyone else beyond that is too far away for polite conversation.

As soon as the waiter clears her elbow after delivering a bowl of soup, Rose's mother glares across the table at him. "So, Dr. Smith, how old are you then?" she asks waspishly. "Thirty-four? Thirty-five?"

"Mum!"

"I wouldn't have said a day over thirty-three, myself," Jake confides playfully over John's shoulder. He then gives a little jump that clearly says he's been kicked under the table, a theory Rose's angry stare confirms.

"Thirty-one," he says, meeting Jackie's gaze evenly. Yes, it's true he's older than Rose, but it's only six years and she's not exactly a child he's snatched from the safety of her cot.

"And what field is your doctorate in, exactly?"

John glances back at Rose to see her spiraling further and further into a rage that Jackie seems to be completely unaware of. He wishes he was seated beside her so that he could take her hand or lean into her or do any number of other small things that would calm her and offer her the same strength she shares with him so effortlessly. But he can't even nudge her foot under the table without first blindly navigating around table legs and Jackie and Jake's feet.

He could get offended on Rose's behalf and snap back at her mother, but he knows Jackie is just trying to protect her daughter. It's no secret that Rose has made some bad relationship decisions in the past, so has he. But what Jackie doesn't know is that this will not be one of them. "Astronomy," he replies.

Rose starts then looks up at him. He blinks, willing her to understand what he can't say to her right now. After a second she barks a laugh that cuts through the constant murmur of conversation in the background and draws everyone's attention to her. She closes her eyes and when she opens them again they're lighter and a soft smile is now playing about her lips.

Jackie tears her eyes away from her daughter, her brow furrowed in confusion. "What, like a fortune teller?"

John shudders and is opening his mouth to correct her when Rose interrupts.

"Leave him alone, Mum."

"Sweetheart --"

"I said leave him alone."

"Jacks," Pete says, and he's been so quiet this whole time that John had almost forgotten he was there. "Let the man eat his dinner in peace."

"I was just asking --"

"And from the looks of things, you'll have plenty of opportunity to ask in the future. Let it go for now."

Jackie picks up her napkin and lays it across her lap in short, aggravated motions. John nods to Pete in silent thanks as he picks up his spoon and starts to eat.

* * *

Since the very idea of the light on the other side of his eyelids hurts, John buries his head deeper in the bed; he can't imagine the pain actual light will cause. But the scent of a different detergent than he uses at home triggers a sense of wrongness and without thinking he throws off the duvet.

The sunlight pierces straight to his brain and several seconds pass before he can focus enough to look around the unfamiliar room. It's posh. Very posh. The bed is a huge four-poster with a canopy that's draped in heavy damask curtains. There are a few other pieces of furniture: a small chest of drawers, a settee, and a desk with a high backed chair. The mid-morning sunshine is streaming in through tall windows on two of the walls, both with curtains that match the ones on the bed.

He doesn't know where he is.

The last thing he remembers clearly is snogging Rose after the Vitex banquet. Rose. He calls her name, the sound of his own voice sharply reminding him of the blistering headache he's got. He waits, but there's no answer, and somehow he'd known not to expect one.

John moves to the edge of the bed and has to stop a moment for his stomach to quiet. He hasn't felt like this in a long time, since the one and only time he'd allowed Jack to get him dead pissed during their early years together at uni. He feels so miserable that even the thought of Jack and how oddly proud his friend would be to see him like this can't bring any levity to the situation.

After a few deep breaths he stands, his bare feet sinking into the plush carpeting as he crosses the room. All he can see through the large windows are the tops of trees, and a closer inspection has him convinced that the room overlooks Hyde Park.

But Rose's flat isn't this close to Hyde Park.

The Dorchester Hotel is.

Renée.

Suddenly his stomach is upset for more reasons than just the hangover. What has he done?

John looks down at himself, belatedly coming to a series of very unpleasant conclusions. But first and foremost: he's dressed. Properly dressed - in the same suit he wore to the banquet the night before, his keys are even still in his pocket, but dressed. He drops onto the settee, his head in his hands, and thanks gods he doesn't even believe in for that.

Straightening, he catalogues what he thinks he knows. Sometime after leaving Rose last night he'd come to the Dorchester, presumably to officially end things with Renée. Beyond that... beyond that he's got very little to go on. She must have offered him a drink, though there's no way he got so pissed after only one drink that he can't remember the entire night. And it's not like him to over-indulge.

As he makes his way out of the room, a quick survey reveals there's no personal effects of any kind either in the bedroom or the lounge. Wherever Renée is, she's no longer here. And though he's very very glad not to see her this morning, he really wants to talk to her to see if she can fill in the holes in his memory.

Once again his thoughts turn to Jack. Jack has loads of experience waking up hungover in strange hotel rooms. Not that he wants Jack to know what he's done, but at least he would know the protocol.

He's looking at himself in the mirrored back wall of the lift, doing his best to straighten his rumpled suit and disheveled hair and realizing he's going to have to walk through one of the finest hotels in London looking like he slept in his clothes. He did, but that's beside the point. Then without warning he's remembering very clearly Renée handing him a glass of something, scotch maybe. She's wearing a cream colored silk dressing gown and he's sitting on one of the chairs in the hotel room's lounge. He says her name.

And just as quickly the memory fades leaving whatever happened next in obscurity.

But there was something about the way he said her name that spoke of consolation, of an attempt to break difficult news gently, so he latches onto that. He's pretty sure it means he did get the words out, that he managed to tell her yes, there is someone else, and yes, it's serious. For some reason he can't explain he has the impression this didn't upset her too badly.

The lift doors open and he steps into the lobby. He's making his way to the doors as quickly as he can, avoiding the dirty looks he's getting from the other patrons as he passes them. There's only five more steps remaining until he'll be outside when he hears, "Have a nice day, Dr. Smith."

John stops, the sound of his own name like ice down his spine. He turns, seeking out the unfamiliar voice. A porter is looking at him from beside the front desk and John waves him over.

"Is there something I can help you with, sir?"

"You know me?"

His brow furrows. "Only in the sense that I assisted you with the lift last night, sir." He gestures to the breast pocket of his jacket. "You'd forgotten your key."

"My key. Yes. Thank you." He hadn't even noticed, but the floor Renée's room was on must have had restricted access.

"No worries, sir, just doing my job. And no need to worry about the room either, it's all been taken care of."

John lets that bit of information slide. It hadn't even occurred to him that the room might not be paid for. "The lady I was here to see last night, Renée --"

"Mademoiselle Poisson, yes."

"Yes, Miss -- excuse me, did you say Poisson?"

"Yes, sir. Mademoiselle Poisson."

"Renée Poisson." And then the other shoe falls. "Charles Tournehem's niece?"

By now the porter is looking at him strangely.

John mutters a thanks and backs away from the other man. He doesn't stop moving until he's seated in his car. That's when he allows himself to fall apart. Renée Poisson. Niece of Charles Tournehem, CEO of Tournehem Electronique.

As bad as he thought this situation could possibly be, this news adds an extra suitcase full of bad. TE has been in close competition with Vitex for years, but somehow always manages to fall short of overtaking them. Renée's interest in him is now clear, his theory is all that stands between maintaining the status quo and Vitex being propelled into another league entirely. If TE were to get their hands on his designs it's possible they could beat Vitex to market. He's not sure that would be a blow Vitex could recover from.

Has this whole thing been an attempt to woo him over to their side? If so, it's failed, he knows that even without having his memories intact. He'd never leave Rose and Vitex. It explains some of Renée's desperation, though, how it seemed like she tried to push their relationship into high gear when he didn't fall at her feet right away.

He's confident that that's what happened as he starts the car. And now he's exhausted, physically and mentally. He needs to go home. Then he needs a shower and some paracetamol. After that maybe, hopefully, he can put this behind him.

* * *


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. John Smith is a brilliant computer engineer who believes his new CPU design will revolutionize the industry, but Intel and Apple won't have anything to do with him. Vital Technologies, better known as Vitex, is looking for something that will propel them ahead of their Silicon Valley counterparts, and John Smith's design seems like just the thing.

  
Monday morning he's not sure what he expects, that maybe his actions Saturday night (or inaction - he still says a prayer of thanks every time it crosses his mind) have somehow painted him in indelible ink visible to all but him. But when Donna arrives a few minutes after him, her casual banter gives no hint that anything has changed. At half eleven he has lunch with Rose who raises no suspicions about where he spent Saturday night. As he kisses her goodbye outside his office an hour later his emotions are a mixture of relief that she doesn't seem to suspect anything and guilt that he hasn't volunteered the information.

 _Although, on the other hand, what, really, is there to tell?_ he reasons. In the grand scheme of things he's done nothing wrong. Renée has failed to either seduce or recruit him. And the two dates they went on were before he and Rose became an item and were both disasters. Maybe he's blowing this whole thing out of proportion.

That afternoon, however, John's life turns into something resembling an episode of that American show 24. Every hour - and some individual minutes - that pass without incident seem to roll over heavily in his mind. It all begins at two o'clock, when a second tiny spark of memory surfaces as he is leaning over his prototype: Him discussing his theory with Renée. In minute detail. That one has him rushing to the gents' to lose the lunch he's just paid for. Washing his face at the sink afterwards, John decides it feels more like a dream than a memory, so he holds on to that hope with every fiber of his being.

Two forty-seven: When he returns to his office, Donna takes one look at him, declares him the victim of food poisoning, and sends him home. He's never been so grateful for her mothering, not even when dealing with the aftermath of "I can't".

Then Rose calls to check on him while he is on the way home and he lies and tells her he'll be fine in the morning. But the truth is he doesn't feel like he'll ever be fine again.

John spends the rest of the afternoon and evening trying desperately to piece together whatever bits of memory he possibly can from Saturday night. He's hoping for a word, a gesture, anything that will refute this idea that he's betrayed the woman he loves and the company her father built from the ground up.

At eleven o'clock another memory surfaces: Renée quizzing him on the exact number of cycles per second to send to the CPU.

He spends the next hour dry-heaving in the loo. Then, with the single-mindedness of someone trying to wash off their own skin, he showers.

There's no question sleep will elude him, so he doesn't even try, choosing instead to spend his time trying to figure out how to fix the problem he's created. Before he knows it, hours have passed and he catches a glimpse of the clock to discover that he has just enough time to shower again before work.

When he arrives at the office there are no howlers in his email from Pete, so he sits down immediately and gets back to his prototype.

"You feeling better, sunshine?" Donna asks when she comes in. Then she gets a good look at him and grimaces. "You should have stayed home."

"I need to finish this," he mutters. It's the only thing keeping him going at this point. He has to finish the prototype and get it to Pete as soon as possible so hopefully Vitex can begin production before Tournehem builds their own version.

Unfortunately, after spending the entire night wracking his brain, this is the best solution he could come up with. The only other idea that seems even remotely likely to succeed will require the services of someone who can get into TE's network. And though Rose is the only hacker of any merit that he knows, he's not going to go to her until he's exhausted all other options.

Three fifteen: He's only got the finishing touches remaining on the prototype when Donna's voice disrupts his concentration. "Oi, Spaceman. Honestly, I don't know how you do that," she grouses when she sees she's finally gotten his attention. "The Director wants a word with you in his office."

John can feel all of the blood draining from his face, and Donna jumps up from her desk to check on him. "Are you all right?"

"I'm always all right." He puts down the screwdriver and stands, heading for the lift like a condemned man.

"Go right in, Dr. Smith," Pete's secretary says when he arrives on the tenth floor. "They're expecting you."

He doesn't even register the plural pronoun until he opens the door to Pete's office and sees Rose standing beside her father's desk. She smiles at him but stays where she is.

Pete gestures to the chair opposite him. "Have a seat, John."

"I'd rather stand, thanks."

"All right." Pete folds his hands on the desk. "I'm not going to mince words. I've been hearing some very disturbing rumors. Tournehem Electronique says that their next chip will be 40 per cent faster than anything coming out of America. Legal suspects we may have a mole."

Rose is visibly stunned. "It must be Donna. She's the only one privy to John's --"

"I've been seeing Renée Poisson," he says flatly. Rose lets out an anguished little gasp that rips right through him. It occurs to him for the first time that Rose and Renée are nearly the same age and, being in the same industry, it is very likely they know each other.

Rose's arm wraps around her waist, like she needs the added strength to keep the contents of her stomach where they are. He can't meet her eyes and still manage to get through this so he focuses on Pete instead. "She approached me a few weeks ago. I didn't even know who she was at the time."

"And after you learned who she was?"

"She introduced herself only as Renée. She never said that her uncle was Tournehem. I didn't make the connection until it was too late."

Pete's voice is devoid of any emotion. "And by too late... what exactly are you admitting to here, John?"

"I told her enough of my theory that I believe she could have someone at TE replicate it."

Rose is sobbing openly, and this time when she passes him on her way out of her father's office he moves to follow her.

"I'm sorry, John, I'm going to have to ask you to stay."

"But Rose --"

"You've done enough damage there, too, I think." Pete picks up the phone on his desk and tells his secretary to have Jake come in. That's when it really hits John what's happening here.

"Pete, let me explain. It wasn't like that."

The door opens and Jake walks in, flanked by two uniformed security guards.

"Please escort Dr. Smith from the premises and bar him from returning."

"Please, Pete, five minutes of your time, that's all I'm asking."

Pete dismisses him with a wave.

Jake is deaf to his pleas and by the time the lift doors open to the lobby, he's running on desperation. "My personal effects!" he realizes in a brilliant flash. Any excuse to get him back upstairs so that he can talk to Rose or Pete and explain to them what really happened.

But Jake's steps don't even slow. "Donna's already boxing them up for you."

 _Donna_ , who was so thrilled to finally find a permanent position that suited her. What's going to happen to her now?

The two uniformed goons leave but Jake stands with him at the front desk until Donna steps off the lift with a small box in hand. "This is all I could find," she says, setting it on the desk between them. Jake leans over and glances in the box to verify the contents. There's not much: a tin of biscuits, the most recent issue of Wired, and a mouse John had brought from home because he preferred the way it fit in his hand.

John is more concerned about Donna, though. Her eyes are rimmed red but hard, and he can tell she's already put all of her crying behind her. "Donna --"

"Shut it, Spaceman," she spits bitterly. Then she composes herself. "They're putting me in the secretary pool."

"I'm sorry," he says, because he is. "I am so so sorry."

"How could you do it, John? How could you do this to Rose?"

"It's not what you think, Donna. Really, it's not."

She's looking at him suspiciously and John wishes he could give her some reassurance. But, in truth, he can't. At this point he can't even convince himself that everything will be all right.

"Dr. Smith," Jake says. "It's time for you to leave."

John glares at the other man, but Jake only looks back at him with cool detachment. There's none of the laughing young man John got to know at the Board banquet visible in Jake's expression. "I didn't do this," he says, trapping Jake's gaze. He can't get back in to see Pete, and he knows Rose won't take his calls so this is his last chance. "This is not me." He looks to Donna. "You know how important she is to me. I wouldn't do anything to hurt her."

"Yeah, but --"

"I know it sounds cliché, Donna, but I was set up. I don't know how, but I was." He looks back at Jake. "You're her friend. She'll listen to you. And she needs to know that I would never."

Jake shrugs and takes a step forward to guide John closer to the door. "Yeah, but you did." He extends his hand between them. "Your keycard and ID, please, Dr. Smith."

He feels his face fall. Up until that moment there had still been a glimmer of hope that someone would listen to him. He unclips the keycard from the waistband of his trousers and hands it over.

"John, your stuff," Donna calls when he turns and starts for the door, but he waves her away.

In a matter of minutes he's lost everything that had become important to him: his theory, his job, Donna, who was shaping up to be a very good friend, and Rose, who might have been so much more. When he gets home he's going to get properly pissed.  


* * *


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. John Smith is a brilliant computer engineer who believes his new CPU design will revolutionize the industry, but Intel and Apple won't have anything to do with him. Vital Technologies, better known as Vitex, is looking for something that will propel them ahead of their Silicon Valley counterparts, and John Smith's design seems like just the thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that the rating has changed to M+.
> 
> * * *

  
It's not until he unlocks the door to his flat that he remembers he doesn't have nearly enough alcohol on hand to do him any good. A quick inventory of his kitchen confirms that in between the contents of his refrigerator and his cupboards, he's got exactly two bottles of Guinness Black Lager and about half a bottle of cheap whisky. Although, considering it was alcohol that got him into this predicament in the first place, it's probably for the best that there's not much. Despite that, he opens one of the beers and takes a large draught.

A double whisky is dinner, and he nurses it for the better part of an hour. He's pouring himself a second glass when there's a knock at his door. As much as he'd rather ignore it, he finds himself opening it anyway.

"Rose," he breathes when he sees who's standing on the other side. She's wearing an over-sized jumper and a pair of jeans that have seen better days. Her eyes are bloodshot, her face has been scrubbed of make-up, and she's looking at him like he's just kicked her favorite puppy. But buried beneath all of that is a sense of expectation, like she wants him to tell her that the whole thing is a lie.

She takes a deep breath, "Look, I know I shouldn't be here, but I needed to come. I needed to see you. John, I thought you and me were..." her confidence falters and she continues quieter than before, "but I obviously got it wrong."

"Rose --" he starts, then stops himself before he can say more. This is not a conversation he should be having with her standing on his balcony. He steps back and gestures her into the flat.

She hesitates for only a second before stepping in. She's already speaking again as she brushes past him. "Were you and she - are you and she..." this time her voice fades completely out, but there's no mistaking the question.

"No," he replies, closing the door. Then he says it again more confidently as he faces her. "No. We aren't. We weren't. Rose, it was just a couple of dates. It was over before that day with you in the conference room. I never -- I couldn't --" He growls and tugs at his hair. They're neither of them naive children, but they're both tip-toeing around the sharp corners of this conversation. "I couldn't be with her, Rose, not when I --" He realizes what he's about to say and stops himself just in time.

She gives him a moment to continue on his own and then prods when he doesn't. "What, John?" There's a tiny hopeful quaver to her voice that both terrifies and elates him.

"Renée is very polished," he says instead of answering her question. "She's very beautiful and made herself very available. But she has no spontaneity, no spark of her own."

Some of the color is starting to return to Rose's cheeks and he decides to jump in with both feet. There's no reason to spare himself now, it's not like he can make his life any worse at this point. "The only reason she caught my eye in the first place is because she reminded me so much of you. But there were no words she could speak that would affect me as strongly as one of your smiles, no clothes she could wear that would make my heart beat as fast as simply having you near me, and nothing she could do that would make me want her as much as I wanted you after an innocent kiss goodbye."

Rose vaults the distance between them, her arms wrapping around his neck and dragging him insistently down to her. He gladly moves with her, his heart lighter than it's been since he woke up alone with a hangover and very hazy memories of a conversation with Renée.

He's not clear on when the intent behind the kiss changes, but it does. And then Rose is pressing against him, yielding to his hands on her body and his mouth on her face and neck, words like "yes" and "please" and "oh God, right there" falling from her lips like gifts. But as much as he wants to continue, if he doesn't stop before she starts to become less an altar of worship and more an active participant then he'll forget the reasons why he should. Because, God help him, if she later thinks it just another betrayal he won't be able to live with himself.

He straightens, keeping his hands light on her hips. A moment passes before her eyes flutter open. "Is there a problem?" she asks and John thinks he can hear a touch of insecurity in her voice.

"No - well, yes. Just one. I need to fix this thing with Renée before we go any further. She turned me into something I'm not, and I need to clear my name. I don't want anyone - especially you - thinking this is anything other than completely real for me." He brushes her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "Because it is, you know, completely real."

He doesn't realize he's holding his breath until she nods and he releases it all in a rush. And then he's kissing her again, partly because he's relieved, partly for the simple reason that he can, and partly because he wants her to know exactly how deeply this runs for him. He's all but said the words that he's not ashamed to admit have been building since the first time he met her, but he wants to save them for when the air is finally completely clear between them.

John releases her lips, but Rose doesn't pull away from him. In fact, her lips start traveling down the line of his jaw, and he thinks perhaps the inhuman growl that fills his ears might have come from him. "Oh, Rose, you really shouldn't be doing that."

But she doesn't slow as her lips explore every available inch of his neck, "Then tell me to stop, John. Tell me you don't want this."

"I want to, but we can't."

Rose palms him through the front of his trousers and when his hips surge against her hand she lets out a satisfied purr that rips down a layer of his self-control. "It seems to me that we can."

He whimpers, realizing that he's lost control of this. He's known Rose for weeks, has seen her exuding the kind of self-confidence that most people only dream of having. He knew he wouldn't be able to stop her if she decided she wanted something. Someone. Him.

She squeezes gently and he whimpers again, another layer of his self-control in tatters. Her hand leaves his trousers and she starts unbuttoning his shirt. "Renée's beautiful," she says, and despite how easily she's torn down his defenses and brushed away his reasons, it's a question, a request for reassurance.

"You glow." She places a kiss on the newly exposed skin.

Another button. "Smart."

"You're brilliant." Another kiss.

Another button. "Rich."

"So are you. I don't care. I've never wanted any of it." She squats to place a tiny bite on the skin of his stomach. He hisses, every nerve ending in his body tingling as he strains against her.

Rose hums approvingly as she sinks further down to open the final button. "Sexy."

What are they talking about? Oh. Renée. "She never tempted me as much as I am tempted right now."

His shirt is fully open and she presses her lips to his abdomen just above the line of his trousers. "I meant you. Give in."

"You'll regret it."

"Give in," she says again insistently this time, exposing her teeth like a wolf's snarl and pressing them gently against his skin.

He's on fire when he grabs her by the shoulders and hauls her mouth up to his. She knows she's won, he can feel her triumphant smile against his lips. He pulls away from her, no longer caring that she's eroded his self-control. He only cares about one thing. "Tell me you won't regret it," he insists as he unbuckles his belt and opens his trousers.

"I won't regret it." Too far gone to care about finesse or grace he pulls her jumper over her head, its passage leaving her hair in disarray. He puts his hands on her waist, the tops of his thumbs just barely brushing the bottoms of her breasts.

"Tell me you don't think I'm manipulating you."

Rose places her hand on his chest. "This is real."

He locks eyes with her and agrees, "Completely real."

After that, it's a flurry of clothes flying in every direction, and then John finally pulls Rose's naked body against his. Her skin is so soft and he spends a moment just tracing the lines of her body with the tips of his fingers. "You are so beautiful," he whispers reverently.

"So are you," she whispers back, her fingers doing much the same dance on his skin.

He thinks to argue but decides against it. They can debate the merits of narrow hips and pale skin and glasses some other time. With one arm wrapped firmly around Rose's waist, John takes two steps backwards until his calves hit the sofa.

He's always hated this sofa. It's too firm to really get comfortable on most days, but as he sinks down onto the cushion, he thinks it might be just firm enough today. Rose climbs up on top of him without prompting, straddling his thighs, and he scoots down just enough that he's not sitting straight up.

With one hand on her back, John arches Rose forward. He's considerably taller than her, but at this angle he's level with her breasts and when they're within reach he closes his mouth around one taut nipple. "OhmyGodyes," Rose slurs, her head falling forward to obscure his face with her hair. He's licking, sucking, and rolling the nipple between his teeth trying to determine what she likes and accidentally stumbles upon the perfect combination of all three that has her rocking her hips against the empty air.

She whimpers in time with the movement of her hips, and the sound of her voice is music to his ears. Slipping a hand between them, John finds her opening slick with moisture so he takes himself in hand and guides her hips forward with his other hand to position himself at her entrance. Then he doesn't have to do anything more than hold himself steady as the rocking motion naturally joins them.

Rose makes some guttural noise that he wholeheartedly echoes as the head of his erection disappears between her folds. She sinks further down and he rips his mouth away from her breast. "Oh God!"

She sobs his name, seeking his lips with her own and he cups her face to hold her there. But now that he's ceased distracting her she takes over. He can feel her stretching to accommodate him as Rose lowers herself even further stopping for only a second when their bodies are flush together before establishing a rhythm.

And it becomes immediately clear that Rose doesn't intend this to be a leisurely love-making. He wants to take charge again, slow her down so that he can stretch this out. They're only going to get one first time and it feels like she's rushing it. But it's so good he can't bring himself to stop her.

Their faces are inches apart, and he can hear every little hum and gasp of pleasure she makes, so he's immediately aware of when the urgency changes. He wasn't close before that moment, but the sound of Rose Tyler mindlessly pursuing her own release brings him immediately to the brink.

She teeters on the edge, the muscles surrounding him getting tighter and tighter by the second. Then, her whole body stiffens above him as she keens out her release and though her hips are still moving, it appears to be more muscle memory than anything else. The two sensations together are too much and with one quick thrust he's following her into oblivion.

His arms are wrapped around her when he finally returns to himself, holding her body tightly to him. Rose is grinning down at him - that's something he could get used to - her tongue firmly planted between her teeth. "You are gorgeous when you come," she mutters as she lowers her mouth to his skin, "all muscles and sinew and emotions - completely real emotions."

He wonders what, if anything, he's said. Because even though he's sure that he loves her, words spoken during the throes of passion rarely count for anything. He's never been particularly verbal while climaxing, at least not anything that -- his whole body freezes, "Rose, I just - we didn't use a condom."

"It's okay," she says, and there's no sign that this revelation has caused her any distress. In fact, she's shifting her hips against him in a way that suggests she's more than willing to have another go.

"It's not okay," he argues, loosening his grip on her so that she can sit up a little bit, "I don't even have a job and I'm certainly not going to get a recommendation from my last one. Babies are expensive."

"I have a little bit of my own money, as you may or may not have guessed, a baby wouldn't be that much of a burden on you."

She's avoiding his gaze by playing in the hair on his chest, lightly scratching the skin beneath, and it's almost more distracting than the fact that she's still wriggling on his lap. He covers her hands with his own, stilling them. "No, no, no, it's not that. It would be a blessing, Rose," he says earnestly, his mind returning to the attic room in Britwell Salome, "a child with you could never be a burden. But it would be our blessing, I wouldn't leave you to shoulder all of that by yourself."

Rose is looking at him now, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I love that about you," she says and his heart skips a beat, "your chivalrous streak. You never apologize for acting like a gentleman and you never assume I'll pick up the check just because I have money. You also take all of the responsibility when it's not all yours to bear." She taps his nose with her finger to emphasize her point. "I'm on the Pill."

John pulls her back down to him, not at all surprised by how quickly he'd accepted the likelihood of a child with her. He kisses her, letting his lips linger. "One day - and I mean one day soon - after we've sorted this mess, I'd like to talk to you about doing away with that last one."

"Yes," she whispers against his lips. "Yes, yes, a thousand times yes."

He chuckles. "Let's have one and then see how you feel about a thousand. But in the meantime, come to bed with me."

"Dr. Smith," she says offering him her tongue-touched smile, "I thought you'd never ask."  


* * *


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. John Smith is a brilliant computer engineer who believes his new CPU design will revolutionize the industry, but Intel and Apple won't have anything to do with him. Vital Technologies, better known as Vitex, is looking for something that will propel them ahead of their Silicon Valley counterparts, and John Smith's design seems like just the thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter, with a short epilogue to follow.

  
Dimly, he hears a mobile phone going off in the lounge, but he ignores it in favor of the warmth and comfort of having Rose Tyler's naked body asleep in his arms. The ringing stops and after a few seconds he hears the tell-tale chirp of a voicemail message arriving. A minute later, the phone rings a second time and he gently shakes Rose awake. "Rose, your phone is ringing."

The words are barely out of his mouth when she swears and flies from the bed into the lounge. She finds the phone just as another voicemail message arrives, but doesn't need to return the call because the phone immediately starts ringing again.

"Hello... No, I'm fine... Yeah, really fine... No, I don't need to say the panic word. I said I'm fine."

At the mention of a "panic word," John's ears perk up, and it occurs to him for the first time that he spent the night with an heiress who very likely did not tell her overprotective parents where she was going to be.

He's got the covers pushed back and is getting out of bed when Rose walks back into the room and leans against the door jamb. Don't move, she mouths at him, gesturing for him to lay back down.

John points to his wrist where a watch would be.

Rose points at him then at herself before sliding her hand down her body to the juncture of her thighs, one eyebrow raised in challenge. John swallows thickly and lays back on the bed.

"What? Yes, of course I'm paying attention." Then, belying that assertion, she shakes her head to indicate that she's not, and then licks her lips at the sight of him stretched out before her.

He's growing harder by the second, incredibly turned on by this silent exchange.

"A friend's... Okay, fine, yes... Today? But --... I'll ask... No, I said I'll ask, and that's my final answer."

She disconnects the call and drops the phone to the carpet all in one motion. Before John can even ask who she'd been talking to Rose is climbing up onto the bed, stopping briefly to suck hard on his hip bone. By the time she's level with him he's forgotten that she had even been on the phone. He rolls her beneath him and sets about wishing her a proper good morning.

Afterwards he's holding her tightly to him, her head pillowed on his chest. "My mum has invited you for tea."

"You don't have to," she adds immediately because there's no missing the way his entire body has stiffened in terror. "But I told her I'd ask."

"That was your mum on the phone earlier?" he manages to eek out.

"Yeah."

Swallowing his own fears, he asks, "What do you want?"

"It's not about me, John."

"It is very much about you. This is your family, how are they going to feel about you bringing me home? I can't imagine your father is going to be thrilled to see me, and if half of what I've heard about your mother is true, I should probably show up in protective gear."

Rose snickers, but doesn't argue with him.

"Rose, this thing with Renée is going to complicate us, which is why I wanted to get her out of my life first."

She wraps an arm around his waist and pulls herself even closer. "She's not going to complicate anything. We're going to deal with her together, the way we should have done in the first place. You're not an island, John, we're in this as a team or not at all."

He flashes back to the night before, Rose telling him that he puts all of the responsibility on himself. He's never not had to. His parents died when he was preparing to enter uni, and the few serious girlfriends he's had since then were all dependent upon him for something. He's never had a partner before. "I'd... I'd really like that."

"Good. Now, I've been thinking and I have an idea of how to handle it. But first, tell me everything that happened."

* * *

The sting of Jackie Tyler's hand on his face takes a full twenty minutes to fade. She didn't raise her voice to him, just smiled politely when they'd entered the mansion hand-in-hand. Then, *crack*.

She yells then, in some other room where she'd dragged Rose off to after slapping him. Though, they might as well have stayed in the lounge as each word travels clearly to where he's dropped onto the sofa to recover. Rose says disturbingly little in the face of her mother's tirade and John's insecurities from the night before are rushing to the front of his mind.

While the women are in the other room, Pete enters the house and sits on a chair opposite him. It occurs to John that it's only Wednesday and Pete's presence for tea means that he's left work to deal with the undesirable element in his home. But unless Pete tells him to get out, he's staying put, so the two men sit in silence.

Jackie returns to the lounge, a tea tray in her hands, a fake smile plastered on her face, and Rose close on her heels. Rose lets out an exasperated sigh when she sees her father brooding, but she comes around the sofa and plops down beside him. John relaxes when her hand finds his because, surprisingly, it doesn't feel like a child acting out in front of her parents.

John knows it's his turn to say something, that Pete had his turn yesterday at Vitex and Jackie has now had hers, but he can't think of a single word to say that will make this turn out okay. Rose squeezes his hand and looks up at him. "Go ahead," she encourages gently.

"I want to make this right," he says, looking at Pete who is glaring back at him like he's an alien come to abduct his daughter. "I didn't --" He falters and Rose squeezes his hand again. "I didn't set out to betray you or Vitex. It's not like I was telling my theory to everyone who passed me in the street. As it was, Renée had to get me drunk just to get anything out of me at all."

Pete's eyes widen and it's the first time he's looked at John with anything other than contempt since their last meeting in his office.

"A part of me knew she was trying too hard." He glances apologetically at Rose before continuing, "It's still difficult to believe that a gorgeous heiress would want to have anything to do with a skinny nerd like me. But I swear to you, the only reason I was there that night was to tell her that she and I were done. I'd met her when Rose and I were still only friends, but as Rose and I grew closer, I knew I had to make a decision. And I chose Rose; I'll always choose Rose. It wasn't until the next morning that I found out who Renée was, and by then it was already too late. After that, the only thing I could think of was mitigating the damage."

Rose sits up and leans against his shoulder. "Dad, I think she's Tournehem's social engineer. It makes sense, how she focused on him, how quickly she had to move. And from what John can remember - or, more accurately, based on what he can't remember - I think she did a lot more than ply him with alcohol. I suspect she may have drugged him. Of course, we'll probably never know for sure," she looks up at John meaningfully. They've already discussed how he's missed the best window of opportunity for a drug screen because of his insistence on handling things himself. "But John's learning that he doesn't have to do everything by himself anymore, right?"

"Right. And Rose and I have come up with a plan. Together."

There's a long moment of silence. Then Pete and Jackie exchange a glance. He's not half expecting to be thrown out of the mansion when Jackie steps forward, but she bends over the tea tray instead and picks up the teapot. "How do you take your tea, love?"

* * *

"There she is," Rose whispers, looking over his shoulder. It's early afternoon and the café is mostly clear of patrons, so Renée is easy to spot.

John laughs loudly, boisterously, and everyone else at the table laughs with him. Rose leans forward and touches his hand, "Tell them the best part, darling."

Even though this is all an act, John thinks he'll never tire of hearing her call him that. It's only been a week since he was loudly fired and then quietly rehired at Vitex, and though they've been busy, they've spent every moment by each other's side.

He lifts his hand, bringing her knuckles to his lips and kissing them. "You are so impatient, my love. I'm getting there."

"You like me impatient," she purrs back at him.

Oh, he does. He loves it when she's focused and in charge, commanding his actions to bring her to higher and higher peaks. "Yes, but I am thoroughly enjoying teaching you how to savor the journey." Then there are the other times when she relinquishes control to him, allowing him to draw out their love-making, keeping her on the edge as long as possible before finally allowing her release.

He tilts their joined hands and nips gently at the sensitive skin on the back of her hand. Rose gasps, and John is certain he can see the first flush of arousal spreading up from the v-neck of her blouse. They're ad-libbing now, far afield of the brief script that had been prepared for this meeting.

"Come off it, you two," Jake breaks in sounding weary and bored, "I see enough of this on the CCTV at work."

"You? Can I just tell you how many times I've had to leave my own desk because they're nearly ripping each other's clothes off in my office?" Donna sounds completely scandalized and disgusted all at the same time.

John holds Rose's gaze a moment longer, his lips slipping into a filthy grin that's full of promise. "Later," he mouths. Kissing her hand one more time, he sits up, adjusting the jacket of the suit he's worn for this occasion. It's an old suit of Pete's and much nicer than anything Renée had seen him in, another part of the act.

"So, I show up at her hotel late one night and she's utterly convinced I'm just being shy, so she gives me a few drinks to help me 'loosen up'." Right on cue Donna snorts in disbelief. "Half an hour later, I'm spouting some nonsense about lowering CPU power consumption, and she's hanging on my every word. Three days later, TE has issued a statement that their next chip is going to be forty per cent faster."

"You're kidding, they fell for it?"

"Utterly. I spun it so nicely, too, with acronyms and everything."

"And if their R&D department is worth their salt, they'd disproved the theory by day four." Actually, Rose had hacked into TE's network and made several key adjustments to their designs. They'll get nothing productive out of their notes now.

"Which means they're now scrambling for damage control."

"Serves them right for thinking they could use a woman to come between us."

He tugs on Rose's hand and she stands, closing the distance between them. He pulls her down to sit across his lap. "Is she gone yet?" he whispers.

"Not yet, but she looks sick."

He sinks one hand into the hair at the nape of Rose's neck and drags her face down to his. He touches his lips to hers then pulls back, teasing her over and over again as he steadily deepens the kiss. He doesn't care anymore who is watching, has forgotten completely that Donna and Jake are opposite them at the table.

As they slowly separate, Rose is looking down at him in much the same way she'd done after they'd made love for the first time on his sofa. He's played his part in this as well as can be expected. The next move is out of his hands, but he hopes that everything they've done will be enough to put an end to TE's dabbling in his theory. There's so much potential fall-out: from what to do if the Tournehem developers decide there is merit to the theory all the way to dealing with the market's reaction if they decide to drop the idea. But he'll deal with all of that later, because Rose Tyler has that look in her eyes again, the one that says he hung the stars.

"Rose Tyler, I love you."

"I love you, too, Dr. Smith," she replies as she leans down to kiss him again.

Neither of them hear when Jake and Donna quietly leave, and by the time they stir, Renée Poisson is long gone and already forgotten.

Two days later he plugs his prototype up in Pete's office. It isn't fifty per cent faster. It's seventy.

* * *


	18. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. John Smith is a brilliant computer engineer who believes his new CPU design will revolutionize the industry, but Intel and Apple won't have anything to do with him. Vital Technologies, better known as Vitex, is looking for something that will propel them ahead of their Silicon Valley counterparts, and John Smith's design seems like just the thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we've reached the end. This epilogue turns Gallifrey Computing into baby!fic, so if that's not your cup of tea, I won't be offended if you choose not to read.

  
"Bloody back of beyond," the posh woman complains. "I don't understand why they can't live in London like civilized people."

"They like it here," her husband replies, offering his arm to help her navigate the cobblestone walkway which leads to the front door of the house. It's a frequent argument, especially now, and not one he's particularly interested in rehashing today. Besides, he thinks as he knocks on the door, it's not like he can blame them for wanting their own space.

When the door to house opens, the woman tenses, and he does as well, prepping himself for the deafening squeal that is sure to come. The man on the other side of the door is cradling a small blue bundle, the index finger of his other hand pressed to his lips.

"Oh!" the woman gasps, dropping her husband's arm as she crowds close to the baby. "He's getting so big," she says in a stage whisper. "I can't believe it's only been a week since I saw him last. Come on then, hand him over."

"Nice to see you, too, Jackie," the man drolls as his mother-in-law carefully takes the sleeping baby from his arms.

"Oh, you plum, it's nice to see you, too." She steps up on her tip-toes to offer him an airy kiss in the general vicinity of his cheek. "But this is my grandson we're talking about here."

His arms now free, the younger man offers his hand to the older when Jackie walks out of the foyer into the lounge. "Pete, glad you could make it."

"His first Christmas? Wild horses couldn't have kept her away."

"It would be easier if you would move back to London," Jackie grouses as she comes back into the foyer. "Where's --"

"Upstairs napping. And it's only an hour. You'd think we moved to Norway or something."

"Feels like bloody Norway."

"Oh, mum," comes a soft feminine voice from the top of the stairs, "you wouldn't be happy unless we were living in the mansion with you."

The younger man hides a shiver by moving to meet his wife halfway up the stairs. "You should be resting," he reminds her gently as he wraps his arm around her waist.

"Couldn't sleep."

"The doctor says --"

"To do what I can."

"-- not to over-exert yourself."

"I don't think skipping an afternoon nap counts as over-exerting myself, John." She pats his face while planting a chaste kiss on his lips. "If it makes you feel any better, you can wrap me in a blanket on the sofa and make me some tea."

John grumbles but guides her down the stairs to where her parents are standing, staying close by as she hugs first her father and then her mother.

"He's so beautiful, Rose," Jackie coos over the head of the sleeping baby. "Looks just like you did at his age."

"He's only two weeks old, mum, it's a little early to be saying who he looks like. Besides," she adds as she returns to her husband's arms, "I'm kind of hoping he'll take after his father."

"Mummy?"

All of the adults at the bottom of the stairs turn as one in response to the plaintive voice. John is the first to move, squeezing his wife's shoulder before hurrying up the stairs. The little girl, blonde hair a messy halo around her head, is rubbing furiously at her eyes, and no wonder, she's barely napped for twenty minutes.

He stops a few steps below her and squats down so that he's level with her face. "Hi, sweetheart."

"Daddy," she grouses, meeting his brown eyes with an identical pair, "Mummy got out of bed."

"I'm sure she thought you were sound asleep." He opens his arms and she steps into his embrace, wrapping her tiny arms tightly around his neck and her legs high around his waist. "Nana and Papa are here."

She lifts her head sleepily, and he can feel her waving to her grandparents over his shoulder, repeatedly curling her little fingers into a fist and then opening it. He heads back downstairs a second time, allowing his in-laws to greet his daughter.

"Come on," Rose says after the kisses and cuddling are done, gesturing at the lounge, "there's no sense in standing around."

John immediately guides his wife to the sofa and sits her there. Despite her promise, she's a strong, independent woman, who has every intention of raising a strong, independent daughter, and he knows it's difficult for her to allow him to fuss over her. She barely accepts the thin excuse when he puts their daughter in her lap and wraps a throw around both of them. The toddler settles into her mother's side, the contentment she finds there as her eyes slip closed resonating deeply with him. He drops identical kisses onto each of their heads then backs away.

Dimly he can hear Jackie telling Pete to get the presents out of the car as she sits on the sofa beside Rose, still cradling his son in her arms. Somehow John doubts that, save the exception of the baby needing to nurse, anyone else will get the opportunity to hold him.

The tree dominates one entire corner of the room, its bare limbs awaiting the hours after dinner tonight when they'll decorate it together as a family. There are presents hidden upstairs that need to be wrapped and a wealth of other things that need to be taken care of before they're joined tomorrow by Donna's family and Jack for Christmas dinner.

All-in-all, he can't imagine what he did to end up this lucky, but he wouldn't change a thing.  


* * *


End file.
